ON FREAKN HIATUS
by The Silver Fallen
Summary: I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed… Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.
1. Prologue: Momentarily Damned

**Once Cursed, Twice Blessed**

By: The Silver Fallen

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any related material you may recognize. If I did, certain people wouldn't be dead or together and vice-versa, not to mention that this wouldn't be posted here.

**Warnings:** This fic WILL have slash in it, one way or another, though not necessarily only slash. There will be character bashing herein. It will have Dark!Semi-Advanced!Harry, weird stuff will go down, and people that are OOC in-character - that will make sense later. (Yes I said that just to confuse you.) This may get fluffy, it may get graphic, it may even get gory so don't flame for something I've already warned you about right here. I don't care if you like my fic or not, just don't be here to express inane comments. If you insist, my abs will get a workout trying not to laugh.  
Note: The genre is general, and I really don't like that. But I can only put two, and it's quite a bit more than just two. I put humour as well since I like to add in my two cents every here and there, but I'm not sure if all of you can understand my wit. But on another note, the rating may go up to M later. Or maybe just one chapter - I'll warn you.

**Summary:** 'I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed…' Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.

§ Parseltongue §

"_Telepathy__**/Legilimency"**_

'_Thoughts_'

**Prologue**

_If only for a moment_

_I wish I could hold you._

_Safe you'd be, here in my arms,_

_If only for a moment._

----------

They say Love has no bounds where selflessness is a given;  
where a single instance of happiness seems to outshine almost a lifetime of darkness;  
where a brief embrace still encompasses you in a blanket of safety,  
if only just one more second.

In the way the world views Love, there is no flaw.  
But the problem lies in that people mistake their feelings for True love, an already rare occurrence.  
Thus the grand tales of lovers enduring all obstacles and trials  
become legends amongst the day to day dramas and tribulations  
between the every day embraces and amorous kisses.

…But now I wonder, is _my_ love a legend or a simple fairy tale?  
Is it even true love? Perhaps _twisted_ is more appropriate  
to describe the story of my supposed "turning."  
Or maybe an atonement of sorts, for all the wrongs done between the two of us.  
There is a place in history for both of our own things that we did and did not do  
and now perhaps a thing we did together.

The two of us have been given tons of epithets through the years,  
either from friends or the general public and that blasted newspaper.  
Star-crossed lovers, two sides of the same coin,  
Saviours, fallen angels,  
Destroyers, harbingers of doom, to even disgusting sex fiends  
(and that one was from a friend, or ex-friend I should say)  
But then there's our favourite joke: Eternally Damned.


	2. The Soft Caress of Twilight

**A/N**: Man you guys are so lucky. I was going to just cut it off at the first scene break, but it was just WAY too short for my taste, so I just kept writing for this chapter. Not many of my chapters will be bulky paragraph like this though. Perhaps a big one or two every now and then, but not likely. NOW GO READ IT. And leave a review too!

**Summary:** 'I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed…' Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.

§ Parseltongue §  
"_Telepathy__**/Legilimency"**_  
'_Thoughts _'

* * *

**Soft Caress of Twilight**

Getting off of the Hogwarts Express at Kings Cross Station was nothing new to all the young witches and wizards as they stepped onto Platform 9 ¾. Overexcited First Years rushed to tell their guardians of their adventures and the things they had learned at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while Third Years tried to not feel too wistful about their Hogsmead trips; they still had next year. Be it the Upper Years in Ravenclaw or Hermione Granger with anxiety over their O.W.L's and N.E.W.T.'s or the ecstasy of being rid of them that was nearly tangible in the thick summer air for the others, the school year was over for another two months.

A mass of some few odd hundred youths clambered around to find their families with smiles on their faces, save four: two Fifth Years and two Fourth years, though with Luna Lovegood one could never be sure.

Ginny Weasley was no average Fourth Year, though - far from it. Being possessed by the teenage memory of the current self-titled Dark Lord Voldemort through a diary as an eleven year old would do that to you. Not to mention the fact that she was the only female-born Weasley in several generations. But the now fourteen-summers-young spit fire had other things on her mind. The same thought was echoed only by her other sombre companions and were mere shadows in the back her brother's and would-be-sister's minds - one Harry James Potter.

'_Those so-called relatives of his better treat him well this summer. Gods know what he's been through already; he doesn't need any more pain right now. Maybe the holiday will do him some good if his relatives leave him alone. And if they don't, I'll just come and get him, even if I have to drag all my brothers along with me to do it.'_

But where the young Miss Weasley was concerned for his safety, the other Fifth Year besides Harry, finally-getting-out-of-his-shell Neville Longbottom, was worried for his mental health. Ceres knows the Mind Healers he himself had to visit to cope with what happened to his parents.

'_And Harry saw his only father figure die. Even worse, disappear through the Veil. Gods, I hope he isn't worse for wear. But he'll bounce back, right? I mean, he's _Harry Potter _for goodness' sake… Hera have mercy on him.'_

Neville could understand better than the rest about Harry's situation, but unbeknownst to the other three (or maybe Luna did know?), Harry had heard and could still hear what happened that fateful Hallowe'en, could hear his parents' deaths, when Dementors came near. Harry knew death, he was marked by it after all; the infernal Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die. Only now he had seen a death that, unaware to the other three save perhaps Luna, sparked a determination beneath the grief from that night.

And within the ebony-crowned head of the "Saviour of the Wizarding World" summer plans were being made. Not that Sirius wasn't on his mind, but the issues that had led up to Sirius' death would always be there to cause problems unless Harry overcame them, and he was going to set out to do just that. The first thing to hit home was his lack of magical knowledge.

'_How can I be expected to be their__ saviour__ if I'm cooped up a fourth of the year and insufficiently taught the other three-fourths?'_

And from there he came to the memory of Dumbledore's office just more than a week prior.

'_Plus there's that thrice-damned prophecy. And he knew all along! Yet he let me go through all those dangers every year, for what? To "train me" for the final showdown? Barmy old coot thought I was too young, too innocent. Wanted to give me a regular childhood, he did. He shouldn't have left me with the Dursleys then, Blood Wards or not. Shouldn't have let me go through all those "trials" that seem to pop up every year. He should have tried to _prepare_me.'_

He hadn't realized that a stony look had come over his face or that his friends had noticed. Harry didn't even notice the glances they gave him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Neville's sympathetic look brought a small wry smile to his face. His eyes didn't quite follow until Ginny enveloped him in a reassuring hug. Luna's more than somewhat-there look was all the final assurance he needed.

Even as Neville and Luna left to go home with their own guardians, Harry knew he had people he could trust and a pseudo-sister who could and would now accompany him on his adventures. Their first journey: through the portal at 9 ¾ back into the muggle world to tackle the rest of the clan of redheads, bar the graduates.

** ¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

On the way back to Privet Drive the Dursleys kept glancing at him with looks of fear and disgust, the former his cousin and aunty dearest, the latter his fat lard of an uncle. Harry could care less; he had more concerning matters at hand, which now included Ron and Hermione.

'_Why do they insist on hiding it from me? Perhaps they're worried I'll ask questions that will reveal or hint at their position in the Order. Tch, I already know.'_

His best friends didn't know that he knew, obviously, but the two were doing a terrible job of hiding it from him. He realized partway through Fall Term that the two were in cahoots with Dumbledore and his precious Order of the Phoenix. For a group named after the iconic creature of Light and Loyalty, the Order still had much to do in earning their name. Harry obviously couldn't be trusted if his best friends were taken into the fold and set to the task of being his bodyguards, read: spy on Harry Potter.

And it wasn't as if anyone who wasn't a dunce didn't already know the two were going to inevitably become a couple. The fact that Ron and Hermione actually thought Harry would not notice and have it take him unawares showed how much they really knew of their "best friend." If he wasn't able to let them have their own lives without him as an intimate part of it, that was fine by him, and really, he wouldn't be Harry if he let it get to him that much. The two were just wrapped up in themselves and did a rather fine job of keeping an eye on him. Can you just _feel_ the sarcasm?

For months he had been sneaking out at night when he didn't have a "lesson" with Snape or a D.A. meeting to walk around the school, just aimlessly wandering where his feet would taken him. A few times almost got him caught, others helped him find some interesting new hidden passages and out of the way classrooms that he hadn't known about. Perhaps, thinking back on it now, he should have snuck into the library those nights and expanded more of his magical knowledge, adding to his spell repertoire.

And then there was Snape himself, the snarky, greasy-haired bat. No doubt, Harry wished he hadn't looked into the Pensieve. The ideals of his wonderful father, almost hero worship in his delusion, were shattered. He could never think of his father the same way, or Sirius for that matter, and he now knew the problem lying behind Snape's bigotry. Perhaps he would go around solving it, if the stupid Potions Master would get rid of the perpetual stirring rod that seemed to be perpendicularly stuck up his arse.

'_What was the Headmaster imbibing when he decided hiring Snape was a good idea? Perhaps it was the credentials; stupid__ git__**was**_ _a Potions Master. Or maybe it was all for the sake of a cover. Pft. Snape is about as Light as a shadow is midday.'_

'_Things are going to be different this summer. I'm going to learn what I need to learn, and nothing save the gods themselves could stop me. This summer, things are going to be set back into their rightful places and people better be prepared, Harry Potter is no longer the "Golden Boy" of Dumbledore's idealistic chess set. Let the Death Eaters come, let Darkness try to off me, the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived is coming into the game. Nothing will be the same, and the Wizarding World won't know what hit it.'_

As his thoughts turned dark, Harry's relatives noticed a change in their unwanted guest, or Petunia did at the very least. Her nephew was becoming a colder person, more aggressive, and not passively so like before either, letting the prettiest flower die first or almost burning breakfast. She felt sorry for whomever he was currently glaring at and the eventual victim of his fury. Then he glanced back at her through the mirror she was spying with and their eyes met for a brief moment; his narrowed to slits. The reality dawned on her that she and her family could be on his list of future vendettas, and likely high up on it as well for all the tender loving care they'd given him.

'_What if he attacks in the middle of the night? Or poisons our breakfast? Oh Lord, what if he gets one of his m-magical friends to torture us?'_

She looked at him again, giving him a once over or three. And she realized that no, Harry wouldn't be able to physically one-up them, not with how thin his frame was at least. But that was all her fault, wasn't it? She _was_ the one keeping him underfed, away from the food _he_ had to cook. Either way, Petunia Evans-Dursley decided she would end the abuse of one Harry James Potter and stop following her husband blindly. She wanted to live a normal, quiet life, and would do her best to ensure the rest of her family did the same and stop.

Stealing another glance at her nephew stewing in the back seat next to her sorry excuse of a whale-son, she gave him a small smile he didn't see. Even if her family did not follow her example, she would not be on that list, and Harry would not have to worry about it for as long as possible.

** ¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

Upon arriving back at Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry's to-do list had grown significantly. He had to get back at those that had wronged him; Dumbledore, the Ministry, and Voldie's Minions. Not Tom himself though - Harry had other plans in mind for Mr. Riddle.

'_Thinking about it, he's never truly done anything to me directly over all these years, bar using my blood for resurrection and killing my parents, but Pettigrew was to blame in both cases, the bloody bastard. Bellatrix was the one that shot the stunner at Sirius. Wait… stunners? Why would she fight with stunners? Hmm… Another question to ask Tommy Boy…'_

In his musings, he hardly noticed the changes in his family, namely his aunt. How she convinced "Dudikins" to carry in the trunk was beyond comprehension; the food required would expend a whole market's supply. Either way, he didn't bother to question it just yet and took in Hedwig's cage himself, only to find his trunk waiting for him by the door. Now, he was downright suspicious.

'_What in Merlin's name is going on here? There must be a catch or something. Probably just some trick before they jump out of the sitting room and attack me. Pft. And to think I was hoping the Order's threats would keep them at bay; would have been easier to sort things out.'_

Regardless, proving why the Sorting Hat let him into Gryffindor, he hefted the trunk up the stairs into his room. The surprise came after he had settled in and put away his things. He had just slipped the loose floorboard back into place, in fact, when his aunt walked into his room – not the relative he had been expecting. Even more curious was the expression she wore. It seemed familiar, just not on her face.

"Umm… H-Harry? I-I know my family h-hasn't been… hasn't exactly been… been like family to – to _you_¸ but m-maybe we can come to… to an agreement-t of sorts? I know what m-magic is. My sister, your mother, brought it home with her every summer… as you now do."

Her voice didn't contain the malice or annoyance it had in years before. It wasn't soft either, but rather stiff, though with what Harry couldn't figure out. Nor had he placed that expression she had on her face yet either. This was plain confusing, but he sat and observed her as she made her rather odd proposition.

'_Wait… Did she just say magic? And with a minimal stutter at that! Perhaps I'm dreaming, and I'll wake up to Vernon's yelling.'_

Petunia, unaware of her nephew's internal rambling, continued on. "I know that – that it is magic that protects this house, through you. We – well, I cannot speak for my family, but I… I don't think the person allowing this house t-to remain standing should be… be cooped up for his stay. Is there perhaps... something I could… would...? Do you want to talk, Harry?"

When she had finally gotten to her question, he was flabbergasted. Indeed, Petunia Dursley had spoken the forbidden "m-word" in her own home, in his presence, and had offered (could it be?) an olive branch of sorts. Still under the idea that he was dreaming and that this wasn't reality, he decided to play along. After all, what could it hurt to try?

"If you, umm, really want to, you can talk. I'd ask you to have a seat, but there really isn't anywhere but the bed."

Whether she took that as an insult, invitation, or both, she denied them. There were more comfortable places to sit than the shabby chair or the cot that dared to call itself Harry's bed. She would have to wait until tomorrow when Vernon went to work and Dudley left to hang out with his friends. She told Harry as much and left to go downstairs, reminding him that Vernon still expected dinner on her way out.

** ¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

The next day, after Vernon and Dudley had respectively left the house, Petunia called Harry back into the house from where he was in the yard. The Order member out on watch, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, decided he could turn and give the house his full undivided attention for something out of the usual, with both eyes. He did not expect to see Harry Potter sitting on the sofa contentedly waiting while his aunt went to get some tea from the kitchen. Even more bizarre was the lack of anger or annoyance on his face or hers as Mrs. Dursley came back with a tray and tea set.

As Mad-Eye continued watching through the wall, their expressions changed, going through a select few expressions in some random order. They would get serious, then apprehensive, and then one would get determined while the other become more unsure, then curiosity would creep in on Harry's face while Petunia tried to remain calm. The play by play of this conversation, even though he could not hear it, piqued his interest; he would have to watch if anything else peculiar happened before he reported anything.

Harry's head suddenly snapped to the window and then slowly turned to look almost directly back at him. But that was impossible, they were separated by a solid wall that only his magical eye could see through, bar certain advance spells – none of which Harry could know or had performed. A peculiar expression was plastered on Harry's face, but he soon shook it off and turned back to his aunt who was trying to get his attention.

« --- »

Dudley had finally left, much to Harry's relief, but he still felt a little antsy about what his aunt might say. It seemed like she had had a change of heart yesterday, but one could never be perfectly sure reading in between the lines, not that he did much thinking it all a dream. He was just beginning to ponder who his warden was for the day when his aunt called him inside for what was likely a long overdue chat, with tea of course. He shrugged off the slight feeling of being watched and came inside where Aunt Petunia told him to sit and wait for him.

'_Why am I getting so anxious about this? I don't even know if it's a good kind of anxious or not. What could she possibly have to say? Perhaps they want to kick me out. But she said that she couldn't speak for them, so what is it she could possibly want to say to me of her own? Maybe I'm just thinking too hard.'_

"Here's your tea, Harry," his aunt offered as she poured out the tea and sat down next to him. It was an odd arrangement for both of them, but easier for one to look away from the other if they wished. "Would you like some sugar and milk, or something else?"

"Third cup milk will be fine, Aunt Petunia. Thank you." It felt odd saying such a passive, courteous sentence to his **aunt** (of all people) while _she served him tea. _ The dynamic between him and her family was lacking at best, but she was usually just there as an observer, hardly getting involved other than underfeeding him. He supposed it wouldn't be completely awkward to have this talk with her, whatever it may be.

"Like your mother you are, though she would usually have only a fourth cup of milk. Still, she is your mother and you are her son, she will always be a part of you."

He did not know what to say to that. He didn't even know if it was a compliment or not. Petunia Dursley's demeanor would be the envy of many a Slytherin. If she was trying to subtly insult him and his mother, she was either doing a really good job at getting in a jibe, or she wasn't truly insulting him at all. Harry didn't know what to think of it, so decided to do the Gryffindor thing and barge right on into the heat of the matter.

"Why do you wish to talk to me Aunt Petunia? You are hardly the type to just request things out of the blue, especially a one-on-one chat with me over tea. If you aren't happy with me being here, I shall try to avoid you and your family as much as possible, but you know that –"

"You have to say here over the summer, yes I know." It was deliberately said, soft and slow, but forceful. "Since that red letter came last summer, I've thought over it. Despite everything, you are still family, even if only by blood. That is what keeps this house safe, and why you return every year, though we both know you'd rather go with those people that kidnap you every year."

"They do not _kidnap_ me Aunt Petunia. It was more like rescuing." Not that it was a real accusation, but one can't be kidnapped willingly. It was no longer kidnapping at that point, was it?

"My point, Harry. This is not your home, simply a place you reside at for a time during the summer. Your time of residence here has never been… pleasant, but still, it can't be helped that this is where you must come back. Vernon doesn't seem to realize that his son has the same blood in him as you, that of an Evans. Dudley was just as likely to have magic as you, and his children as yours if you don't marry some witch, granted either of you have any."

"Well I seem destined to die, and Duds is just like his father. What did you see in him anyway?"

"A mutual dislike for things unnatural. Well the reasons I guess were different, but we both disliked it…"

There was a pause as Petunia seemed to think of what to say next. Harry just sipped his tea and let her think. It seemed that she wanted to say something important. Then Harry heard his aunt speak again.

"I never really hated your mother, you know. Lily was a sweet kid, and a loving person. It's a shame you'll never know her in your life… Don't get me wrong, she could be a pain at times, but she was still my sister, I could never truly hate her. I was – I was jealous of her. She could come home and do these wonderful things while I was just some shadow in the corner, an unimportant child. Forget the fact that I'm the first-born."

He stopped sipping at his tea. Yes, he supposed that was true. It was what he assumed had happened. But what more could Petunia possibly say?

"You are her son and my nephew, the one person who could ever have the same expressive, unnatural green eyes. If there is anything I can do for you Harry, let me know. It's about time family intervened, don't you think?"

Now that made Harry pause. He was speechless. Almost brain dead, too. What could he possibly say to that? A silence fell upon them in his lack of a response; Petunia would let him think over it. The silence wasn't awkward either, but neither was it entirely comfortable. The silence just hovered there, in between the two occupants on the couch. It was just enough for the feeling of being watched to come back to Harry. But it was different from before, more intense and intently trained on… him.

All the windows facing him and the outside had something blocking them, namely one of the two lounge chairs in the room or the curtains that were semi-drawn. So then who could possibly…? The revelation hit him suddenly, and he immediately looked at the left corner next to the window.

'_Mad-Eye Moody. You sly, glass-eyed, ex-auror, you.'_

He couldn't see through it like Moody, but he knew if that chunk of wall disappeared, they'd be almost eye-to-eye.

'_So he's the prison guard for the day. Delightful.'_

"Harry!" His aunt's voice brought him back from his staring match with the wall that was obscuring his vision from seeing Mad-Eye. He hadn't realized he had been locked in his attempt to gaze through the wall for so long.

"Harry, are you alright? You suddenly snapped up and tried to gaze through the wall."

"I'm fine, Aunt Petunia. I don't need to see through walls to know who's on watch today. You remember Mad-Eye moody, don't you? The man with the unnerving, removable, blue eye? He's watching us right now, through the wall."

At her puzzled look, he explained what Moody's eye could do then continued with their original conversation. They came to an understanding and agreement of sorts whilst "reminiscing" and plans were made amongst the laughs and bittersweet smiles. They talked over anything they could think of and made diabolical plots against those on Harry's "To-Do" List. All over tea, of course.

** ¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

When Mad-Eye Moody reported back to Headquarters of the Order of the Flaming Turkey that night, he had quite the story to tell. Would he tell all of it? Not likely, he was a man of few words, usually harsh. This far-fetched tale could be told in its entirety to the whole of the Order present, namely Albus Dumbledore, but then that would ruin all the fun. Besides, he had the sneaking suspicion that Albus would not like what was going on at No. 4 Privet Drive.

After their conversation over tea, which had turned somewhat cheery after Harry's Mad-Eye impersonation, aunt and nephew went back to doing as they were before. Granted, they went about their prior activities more leisurely and relaxed. It was the most amazing thing Alastor had ever witnessed happen at that house. Even the combined stupidity and weight of Harry's uncle and cousin was not as amazing. How could two people that supposedly despised each other for nothing and everything suddenly go about their life under the same roof as if though they had always been on good terms?

Alastor had watched them when they interacted and couldn't figure out why Harry smiled at his aunt. Didn't she underfeed him?

'_Why would he smile and share pleasantries with the person that had left him malnourished? How could the two of them be so amiable? Perhaps I should have listened in on their little chat. Now I'm too confused to make heads or tails of what that boy is doing and what is going on in that blasted house. That'll be my excuse when Dumbledore asks me. There isn't much to tell anyhow.'_

And that was how Mad-Eye found himself lying to the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbldore by omition. Not that it was a difficult thing for him. He had excellent Occlumency shields, not that his memories would make much sense when viewed as he saw them. Albus wouldn't risk getting a confusing mess just to see if he was lying, and Moody was a very trusted Order member and friend. Alastor simply told him that Harry had exchanged words with his aunt, but he didn't know what was said and that was the highlight of the boy's day – not a complete lie, just a very vague rendition of the truth is all.

He would have to tell the Rookie to be on the lookout for anything peculiar tomorrow.

'_Shame that Diggle had already left for his night shift, not that he'd be__ sober__ long enough to watch out for anything. Hopefully Potter won't try something even more outlandish and the day will go by smoothly.'_

Moody really should have listened in on the conversation.


	3. Letters, Tonks, and Bites! Oh My!

**A/N**: This one took me a while to write. I only had about 1000 words, and then suddenly the rest hit me two weeks later. Oddly, right after I watched one of the movies. Eh, it got me to write, that's what's important. Hope you enjoy it. Kind of sucks though. I _know_ I can write better than this… So much dialogue. o.o

**Summary:** 'I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed…' Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.

§ Parseltongue §

"_Telepathy__**/Legilimency"**_

'_Thoughts_'

* * *

**Letters, Tonks, and Bites! Oh My!**

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt… odd. Something was different this morning, and then it his him: it was Vernon's voice, or lack there of. The sunlight sifting in through the window was pleasant company for his first "morning off the job." It felt nice to just relax in the afterglow of a pleasant sleep. That, too, was odd; he should have been up before the sun due to nightmares, covered in a cold sweat and panting. He had no complaints though, he could get used to waking up like this.

The tell-tale creaking of the stairs under the pressure of his uncle's immense weight told him it was time to get out of bed. Aunt Petunia would have done her best to placate her husband, as she had agreed to do over tea yesterday, but Vernon was still Vernon and Petunia didn't make a Harry Breakfast. Predicting Vernon's actions, Harry opened the door just as his uncle was about to "knock" on it.

"Boy, just because your aunt struck a deal with you to keep those freaks happy doesn't mean you can slack off! The sun is already up and there is still no breakfast! Get to cooking!"

His puce complexion had only served to amuse Harry, though it wasn't shown. The fact that this whale thought he could still try to order him around almost brought a smirk to Harry's face. The fool was being an idiot, and one part of the To-Do List was going to be accomplished rather soon.

"Of course, Vernon. Now if you would kindly allow me to get through the door and downstairs, I'll get right on it."

"I don't want any cheek from you, Boy. I am your uncle and you live under my roof! You shall treat me with the proper respect!"

If possible, his face became even more puce-y.

"I am, at least the respect that you've earned from me. Perhaps, when I was still very little, you had some amount of respect in my eyes, but that has long since faded Vernon. Now, are you going to continue to block my way out of this room and starve or let me pass and cook? Either way, you die first."

Whether it was because he caught the not-that-subtle threat at the end or he really wanted to eat, Vernon still stepped aside and let Harry pass, glaring at his nephew vehemently as he did so.

'_Filthy freak should just die and relieve us of his freakishness. I will not tolerate those freak friends of his coming around just to check up on him! Ungrateful brat better send those letters!'_

"Oh, and Vernon? We're going to have a quick family talk after breakfast, alright?"

The only indication that his uncle had heard was the further narrowing of his eyes, but that was enough for Harry. He continued on his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to make breakfast.

'_Today is going to be a good day, I can just feel it. Breakfast first, then the rest of the Dursley problem. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.'_

« --- »

The gathering up of the whole entire house into the sitting room after breakfast was quite the affair. Harry had taken one of the armchairs, and Vernon and Dudley, not wanting to be close to him, let Petunia take the other while they took the couch. It was an amazing feat if ever there was one – the couch only groaned once in complaint.

Getting comfortable in the chair, Harry cast his look over the two huge bulks of mass on the couch across from him. The two seemed wary, something he didn't think the two were smart enough to pull off right now. The almost calculating glint in Dudley's eyes was something else all together.

"I'm sure Aunt Petunia has at least run the conversation she and I had yesterday by the two of you. In case it hadn't stuck the first time, I'll go over it again. First, I will NOT be your slave while I stay here. Second, I **will** be allowed my own personal freedoms, is that clear Vernon?"

Vernon's face had begun to turn red in places, but Harry was not going to be interrupted for something so stupid as his uncle's irrational anger. Especially that.

"Is that clear? For all the normalness and perfection you want in this house, you don't really uphold the image much yourself. I will have my own free– "

"You will NOT insult me in my own home, you freak! You may have talked with your aunt but I have agreed to NOTHING! Don't act like you can order me around while you live under my roof, Boy!" Vernon exploded. Some spittle had even made its way through the air. Vernon's now once again puce complexion would have made Harry laugh, had the situation been different.

'_This is perfect…__ Unless he yells just a little louder, it will all fall into place.'_Harry tried to hide his smirk as the rest of his devious plan slowly unfolded.

"I did not insult you, merely pointed out an observation the rest of your neighbours have probably made by now. As for ordering you around, I'm trying to hold a civil conversation with you. Please sit down, Vernon, before someone notices your unnatural brashness."

It wasn't cold, nor was it heated, just a simple, calm request that did the trick. It was probably the insinuation that he was not natural (and therefore not "normal") that got to Vernon. He exploded again, spittle most definitely flying now. Dudley even seemed to be trying to sink into his half of the couch, an amusing sight.

"Don't you DARE call me unnatural you FREAK! I have had enough of your freakishness! Leave this house at onc– "

"**Vernon!** If you yell any louder the neighbours will most definitely notice. I know for a fact that one of his freak friends is out there watching us. Don't give them a reason to come in here."

The oddly cold shrill of Petunia's voice cut through the air like glass. Vernon froze and stared at his wife in shock. Most people would, hearing a voice like that coming from an equally icy visage. Petunia Dursley at that very moment was _the_counterpart of her sister, a controlled blizzard to Lily's raging inferno. Harry himself was almost gaping at the sight, but out of amazement.

'_Who would have ever thought…?'_

"Vernon," he began again, now serious. "Please sit down. Or don't, I don't care. But I'm telling you now: those 'freak friends' of mine will come crashing in here and following through with their threats if you don't heed them. I shall send my letter every three days as they asked, if you will leave me be. I shan't put up with your pettiness."

With that, Harry got up, left the room with a secret smile to his aunt, and went upstairs to his current room leaving a stunned half-sitting Vernon Dursley in his wake. Dudley was still half buried in the couch, though he had stopped trying to sink in deeper in favour of staring at where Harry had been. Petunia shared a smile with herself at how well this was going.

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

After that, Vernon was… _civil_towards Harry, if you can call it that. Ignoring someone for the most part isn't really civil, but Harry was more than fine with that. The less he had to deal with Vernon the better. Other than that absolutely delightful morning, only Tonks' later surprise and the letter from Dumbledore, not his "friends", telling him he was not allowed to receive post and shouldn't open anything else that was sent to him, was of interest that week. Everything else was just boredom.

But boredom breeds ideas, and with a bountiful supply on hand, the Saviour of the Wizarding World began to make plans for his own future. The rest of the world be damned.

'_I need to find a way to get to Gringotts. Hell, I need a way to get around Diagon Alley and even into Knockturn unnoticed. Gringotts first, cloak and dagger after. I wonder if Vernon would be willing to take me…'_

The thought held merit, but Vernon Dursley was still Vernon Dursley and it would take some convincing to be _nice_to "the Freak". Perhaps a small talk over dinner would work. Or he could just worm his way into Vernon's car before he left for work and have Vernon take him to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd figure out a way by dinner.

« --- »

Dinner was a disaster. Vernon did not take well to the proposition, and had in turn gotten aggressive. Not willing to risk using magic and getting expelled and tired of being beaten, Harry went out for a walk around the neighbourhood, slamming the door behind him. He eventually decided to just take a small stroll through the park near by.

The park wasn't really all that much. A basic playground with a small jungle gym and swing set closer to the sidewalk with a few benches between them. On the other side was a clearing of grass for kids to play football or catch and the sort with some more benches for parents. Around that were some trees – not what one would call a forest, but still good for a fun game of hide-and-seek.

Harry could do with a little hide-and-seek, but who would he play with? Everyone here thought he was the delinquent, and Merlin (or so Dumbledore would like to think himself) knows who his babysitter was today. Probably cycled through all of them by now.

'_What if Moody is following me? No, I'd get that intense feeling I was being watched. But who could it be then?'_

SNAP. Quickly followed by a murmur of "Stupid twig!"

'_Oh. It's Tonks again. This should be fun!'_

Taking the chance, Harry began weaving through the trees as if he was playing a game of hide and seek with himself. He was really playing it with an unknowing Tonks, but as he couldn't see her, that's what it looked like. Tonks would of course occasionally make a sound, but that wasn't much to go on. Then a sharp intake of breath that sounded a lot like a suppressed yelp was heard, this time from our favourite angsty teenage wizard – Harry Potter!

'_Bloody hell… What in Godric's name-?'_

And it was at that point that he realized there was a black snake by his foot that was looking at him rather threateningly. Scratch that, he realized it was _hissing_at him threateningly, and insulting him in the process.

§ Impudent human child, can't even look where its own feet fall. Foolish human, now what will you do? Bitten by a snake and standing there like the idiot you are. Die. Die. How dare you stand there and stare at me you filthy creature? Drop **dead** and give me peace you menace! Why don't you _die?_§

Harry had to admit, it had a quick tongue. Not that sharp, but very quick. And just when he noticed that he wasn't feeling any effects from the bite even though the snake thought he should die, the snake decided to bite him again. He merely blinked and stared more at the metre long creature, oblivious to Tonks watching the whole scene unfold.

§ Shssaashssaashsssaa. Ibecile. Bitten twice by the same snake and still it does not move. Why do you not convulse, or die? Pitiful excuse of a human. Your parents teach you nothing? Idiots the lot of you. §

Now that was it. The bloody snake had insulted his parents! Given it was a relatively minor insult, but what business did this meagre serpent know of him? Perhaps a reprimand was in order? Verdant eyes met crimson – and did it just flinch?

§ Silly snake. What do you know of me? Perhaps I did not _watch_where my foot fell, but I know it did not fall upon you. I must admit, you are very quick of tongue and bite, but your actions do not amuse me. You already bit me once for merely stepping in front of you. Biting me again for being still is rather uncalled for, even for a snake. §

The snake merely looked back at him with the equivalent of a gape. Its – no, her mouth didn't really hang open nor did her eyes widen, snakes can't. But the "expression" it wore was quite amusing, at least to Harry.

§ If you wish to speak, perhaps you should close you mouth and open it again, but with words this time. Your insults were quite interesting. If not, your eyes are a very beautiful crimson and I would not mind staring into them longer. §

He openly laughed, albeit softly, as the snake brought herself together. Perhaps he would still have a companion for the summer that he could talk to.

§ A speaker, hmm? I do not know why you are not incapacitated as the ability to speak does not mean immunity. There's something different about you, Speaker. I can smell it. §

'_Something off? My magic? No, if it knows I am a speaker, it __knows I am magical. Then what…?'_

He was brought from his thought by a few more flicks of the snake's tongue.

§ Impossible. You smell of High Snake. But you are human. Tell me why you smell as you do human! You may seem immune as it is, but I shall not have you sashaying around after slaying one so magnificent. I shall see you…§

'_High Snake?__ What is she talking…? Stupid Slytherin! The Basilisk…'_

Why didn't he think of it before? The Basilisk fang had gone through to the bone and the scar was still there on his skin. Of course he smelled of "High Snake", he'd been bitten by the King of Snakes, one well over a thousand years old. Squatting down to be more level with the snake, he decided it was time to interrupt.

§ …And do not think I cannot bring more harm to you! Filthy human! How dare y- §

§ A Basilisk does not go down easily, and it is a shame I had to kill her. She was magnificent, as you say, but I had to save myself and my sister. What would you have done had I been the predator and _you_the prey? §

The snake actually paused. It obviously did not like being interrupted, but the mere mention of the most terrifying serpent in the world had quickly silenced it. Whether she now pondered Harry's words or simply was shocked to find that it was _the King_ that the he had slain, Harry couldn't tell. He waited for her, still unaware of Tonks a couple of metres away watching on in awe despite the fact she didn't understand.

§ I would not believe you, Speaker, had you been able to lie in Parseltongue. Ironic isn't it, how the creature known for its lies and deception cannot lie at all? What is your name, Speaker? §

'_You can't tell lies in Parselto__ngue? Will wonders never cease.'_

§ I think it is fitting that such a beautiful thing as the truth be spoken by such beautiful creatures. Please, call me Harry. And what is your name, lovely? §

If snakes could smirk, he swore this one did. It was a disturbing expression for a snake to display.

§ First off, Harry, flattery will get you nowhere with me. I am not so easily wooed with compliments as other common snakes are. But please, say what you wish. It can only be honest opinion and one can never have too many admirers. §

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at that. He was learning to like this snake, who still hadn't told him her name – despite having bitten him twice.

§ Flattery may not get me far with you, but only one so vain would still fish for compliments anyway, even if subtly so. Not that you would need to fish for any… You still have not told me your name. §

She chuckled herself and wound her way up his extended arm. It was an odd sensation to him, but not unwelcome. It reminded him of a reassuring weight, like his wand in his hand, except that this moved on its own and could talk with him. In his musings he almost missed her whisper.

§ Serena. Call me Serena. §

And she fell asleep wound about his shoulders where she had settled herself. Harry smiled to himself and got up to walk home where his aunt would have calmed down Vernon enough by now, still oblivious to the Order member he had left behind to wonder what in Merlin's name just happened.

« --- »

Sneaking back into the house had been a lot easier than Harry had thought. The Dursleys were going to be robbed from one of these days. That is, if any burglar would ever think of coming to this disgustingly "perfectly normal" place. Alas, no one would ever think of it, but at least he could get back inside.

In his terrible excuse for a room again, Harry slipped Serena off his shoulder and onto his pillow. She could rest there for now; he had things to think about, namely figuring out how to get to Gringotts. He didn't even know how much money he had! He really needed to get there and set things in order; not more Complacent Potter.

The sooner the better apparently, as a rather imperious Eagle Owl flew in his open window with a letter attached to its leg, the Gringotts Seal on it. How did an owl look down its nose at you anyway?

'_Seems Bumblebee doesn't wish for me to open this. I wonder why?'_

His oh so innocent thought had him opening the perfectly innocent letter he now held in his hands. The arrogant owl had already flown over to Hedwig's cage and helped itself to some water and owl treats before gliding back out the window. The seal broke with ease, the deceivingly simple sheet of parchment unrolling to reveal its contents.

_Dear Mister__ Potter:_

_We wish to send our condolences regarding the death of your godfather, one Sirius Orion Black.  
Mister Black left a will that we have just recently been able to get hold of. There will be a reading  
at 11:30 the morning of July the 11__th__ at Gringotts, and as you are the primary beneficiary,  
your presence is requested._

_I__t also has been requested by Mister Black in his will that you be emancipated immediately.  
Since you will be declared of legal age and coming into your fairly large inheritance,  
it is advised you come beforehand to settle those matters prior to the reading._

_Sorry for Your Loss,_

_Gar'roc__, Gringotts' Inheritance Office, Great Britain Branch_

Harry could only stare at the letter for a moment before it finally hit him. He would be able to do magic. He could finally be rid of Dumbledore as his magical guardian, and therefore his "financial advisor". He would finally be free, at least mostly.

But the eleventh was next Thursday, a good nine days away. He couldn't wait that long. He would have to attempt another talk with Vernon next evening, not doubt about it. He'd claim his inheritance after getting emancipated. The will reading would just have to wait until next Thursday.

Laying the letter on his desk, Harry decided it was time to go to bed. There had been enough excitement that evening; he would begin his plans tomorrow. Now it was sleepy time, snake on his pillow or no. After setting his glasses on the nightstand, he finally lay back to rest his heavy eyelids and fell asleep. It would be the third night in a row without any nightmares since the day he and Petunia had come to an agreement.

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

Recovering from her befuddlement, at least enough to set it aside to ponder it later, Tonks set off after her charge. Couldn't let him out of her sight now could she? But the boy sure was crafty when he needed to be, or wanted to be. She spent the rest of her watch before Kingsley showed up for the night trying to figure out exactly what had happened.

Well she knew what had happened: Harry had been walking in the park, got bitten by a snake, got bitten again, and then started a conversation with it, resulting in Harry's new "pet". That's what happened, simple as that. But it's not really that simple, is it? Wizard or not, people don't just _survive_a snake bite, let alone two without any reaction to show for it.

'_Something is off about that him. I should tell Remus about this, and he'll want to know all the details. Maybe he can help me figure things out before I tell the Headmaster. Harry, you're a very unusual boy, even for a wizard.'_

Kingsley soon took over and she went straight back to headquarters. She had to talk to Remus. She found him upstairs in his room, hiding away from the hustle and bustle downstairs of all the resident Weasleys and one Hermione Granger. She really couldn't blame him; his last best mate had just died not even a month ago. Right now though, he had only one other person he could call family, and _he_ was still alive unless that venom finally decided to kick in.

"Remus?" she knocked on the door. "Remus, I need to talk to you."

And there he sat on his bed, one Remus Lupin, depressed werewolf.

"I don't want to talk right now Tonks. Leave me alone."

He sounded so dejected, his voice and face so hollow as he glanced at her to speak. She just wanted to go over and give him some comfort, but she was on a mission to tell him about Harry while the memory was still fairly fresh. And the fact that she was still somewhat confused about it all.

"Remus, Sirius may be gone, but you still have Harry! I will not let you leave him alone when he's the last of your family. If you're not going to talk, fine. But you're going to **listen!**"

He could only stare back at her. His surprise wasn't entirely clear on his still dejected looking face, but she saw it in his slightly wide eyes. She ploughed on, Remus needed to know this.

"You know that I was on duty today. A while ago, after a spat with his uncle, Harry left the house and went for a walk and I followed him to the park. He started darting though the trees or something. It was like he was playing hide and seek, though I don't know who with. Anyway, he had slowed down between some trees and then he yelped and paused. A… A snake had bitten him."

Remus was completely alert at this point.

'_A snake?! Is he okay? Is he alive? Why are we standing here?'_

And he voiced his thoughts, gradually making his way to the door where Tonks still stood not moving.

"Why are you just standing there telling me this? We should be getting him some help. Did you tell Kingsley? Why aren't you moving? Tonks! We have to help him!"

He was right in her face at this point, and still she would not move. Instead, she closed the door behind her and locked it while casting a silencing charm. Then she turned back to him and awkwardly gestured for him to sit down. She still had that somewhat confused, unsure look.

"Tonks? What the bloody hell are you doing?! NYMPHADORA TONKS! IF YOU DON'T-"

"Shut up a moment Remus and let me tell you the rest."

It was cool and even, despite her rather uneasy expression. While he would much rather just jump up and go save his godson, Tonks' serious tone made him pause and decide to hear her out. Then he'd jump up and go and do some desperate (and probably stupid) thing to save his godson. Then there were those red eyes… eerie.

"As I was saying," she said pointedly in Remus' direction with now once again purple eyes, "Harry yelped and paused after being bitten by a snake. And then he just stood there staring down at it while it hissed at him. Then it bit him again and he simply blinked! BLINKED REMUS!"

At this point, Remus was borderline hysterical. His godson was bitten by a snake _twice?_ And all he did was _blink?_Perhaps Harry inherited enough from Sirius to make his parentage dubious. It sure had Remus thinking.

"But then he suddenly crouched down and started hissing back. He sounded kind of angry too. But the two of them, Harry and the snake, had something like a conversation. It was unsettling, watching him do that so naturally. I'm sure he must have known I was there or something…"

"Tonks, you're rambling." He was surprised that it actually came out rather calm, despite his current inner turmoil.

"Err, yeah. Um…" she mumbled. Her hair seemed to go a rather bright shade in her embarrassment. "Well then the snake slithered up his arm and around his shoulders. Little bugger looked rather wicked. It wasn't that big, but it was completely black and had the reddest eyes I've ever seen. The thing looked almost demonic."

It obviously unsettled her. She obviously wanted his help; why else would she come to him first? Now why did that description ring bells in the back of his head? Something about the coloration warned him.

"Wait. Wait a moment, what were its eyes like? Tonks?"

"Its eyes were red, almost crimson…"

She drew out the last word, a sudden thought coming to her mind. Crimson, the color of Voldermort's eyes. And the snake was solid black. It was almost an omen, but she didn't believe in such silly little things.

'_It was perfectly harmless, right? Just a harmless little grass snake that happened to be black with red eyes.'_

Remus on the other hand, renewed his panic. Crimson eyes and a solid black body belonged to only one snake he knew of. It was also the only venomous snake in Britain.

'_He was bitten by an Adder? AN ADDER? How is he alive? This can't be right… I have to see him now, make sure he's okay."_

He managed to hide his escalating panic enough to thank Tonks and rush out of 12 Grimmauld Place. From there, apparating to 4 Privet Drive would be simple. Convincing Kingsley would be the only possible hitch in this "rescue attempt".


	4. What A Wonderful World

**A/N**: This truly took me forever to write. I wrote most of the first scene in half an hour, but then I couldn't finish it for some reason. A month or so later, it all comes to me out of nowhere. So, if there's any differences in the writing style between the two, blame it on the month of intermission. D

**Summary:** 'I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed…' Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.

§ Parseltongue §

"_Telepathy__**/Legilimency"**_

'_Thoughts_'

* * *

**What a Wonderful World**

He was immediately advanced upon by Kingsley Shacklebolt when he arrived. Having already made the sudden decision merely seconds ago, Remus shoved past Kingsley and went directly up the drive and to the door at No. 4. He didn't even bother to knock or wipe his rather dirty shoes; he simply barged in, after carefully unlocking the door of course.

He met no immediate opposition as he had been expecting, but then again it was a rather late hour and most would be asleep. Shaking his head, he softy ran up the stairs to Harry's room and burst through that door as well – just as he had the front door – only to find what he had feared: his godson was lying still on his bed, the vile snake curled up right beside his head.

Remus could feel the anger in him rise as he saw the snake sleeping there, as if though it hadn't just killed his godson. Evil creature must have bitten him tons of times, and Remus was going to pay back in turn. Spanning the short distance and reaching for the wretched creature, he began to curse its existence with a few growls mixed in.

"You disgusting wretch! How _dare_ you kill my Cub? What gives you the _right_to take him away from me? You slimy snake, **give him back!**"

At this point, his hand was centimetres away from grabbing the black menace and wringing its neck. It was also at this point that Harry was finally stirred from his sleep by his godfather's yelling. And the emeralds peering out at him through not-that-long-but-longer-than-average lashes gave Remus pause.

'_Harry's alive? __Harry's alive. He's alive!'_

Sweeping him up into a big hug to rival Mrs. Weasley's, Remus began to rejoice in overabundance, or at least Harry thought so. Why was Remus so excited anyway?

"You're alive! Oh thank Merlin you're alive! I thought you were dead!"

And Remus then began glaring at the no longer sleeping snake, completely ignoring or oblivious to the confused looks Harry was giving him and the attempts to get his attention.

"Remus. Remus. REMUS. **MOONY**!"

The werewolf snapped out of his impossible (and hopeless) glaring contest to turn back to his still rather confused godson. Just as confused as he was, Harry spoke carefully in case he should trigger something in Remus again.

"Now Remus, why would I be dead? More importantly, why were you yelling at Serena?"

His only answer was an incredulous stare. '_Why I'm yelling at some snake is more important than why you'd be dead? What kind of mind…? It's all Sirius' fault, I'm sure of it.'_

"Why**would** you be dead? That vile thing bit you twice at the very least and then followed you home, where it probably has bitten you even more in your sleep!"

"Remus, calm down. I'm obviously not dead, and _Serena_didn't follow me home – I invited her. Besides, it's just a bite. ("Just a bite?!") It's not like she's venomous. I think I would know if I was bitten by something venomous, especially a snake."

Remus just gave him an even more incredulous look, if that was possible.

"Harry, that's an albino Common European Adder. Most folk just call it an Adder, but that's because it's _the only venomous snake_ in Great Britain. Now where did it bite you? Its bite always leaves something behind."

"Well_she_bit me around my ankle. As for leaving something behind, nothing's happened. I only have four marks to attest to the fact that she bit me _twice._"

Here Harry threw his own glare at Serena where she watched on his pillow. She even had the grace to look affronted, if a snake could really do such a thing.

§ Why are you glaring at me? First the other one begins to yell and try to kill me and glares at me for no apparent reason, now you? What have I done to either of you? §

Harry's eyes just narrowed a bit in a more pointed glare.

§ Okay, so I bit you twice. I apologize, now leave me in peace. Sheesh. §

'_That snake has a lot of cheek. Better work on that.'_

Remus could only stare for a moment as his Cub and the snake had something resembling a conversation, if you want to call it that. He snapped out of it quick enough. He then proceeded to throw an unsuspecting Harry back onto his bed and reach down to examine his ankles, ignoring Harry's squawk of protest.

True to his word, there were four small dots on his left ankle where the snake had bitten him. What puzzled dear Mr. Lupin was why there was no swelling or any other adverse side-effects from the bites. Surely there would be some reaction? Redness even! But there was nothing, nothing save the four small dots, four small evil little dots.

In his momentary pause, Harry regained his composure and drew himself up on his bed, staring down at Remus as if he was going to follow the steps of Dumbledore and go off his rocker. It was a disturbing thought considering both how young he was, despite appearances, and his slight aversion to sweets (bar chocolate). A disturbing thought indeed.

"Remus, I told you already; I'm fine. Now why are you here? You're not my guard are you? I thought for sure that after Tonks was Kingsley's shift. And you don't have Guard Duty anyway."

And he had the audacity to give him that coy smile. The boy knew the shifts, and knew that he wasn't on them! What kind of question was that anyway: 'Why are you here?'

"I thought you were dead or severely ill! Is that not good enough a reason? Merlin, you're the last I have Harry. Don't leave me too, not now, not after Sirius –"

He still couldn't bring himself to say it, couldn't believe Sirius was dead yet. He knew he was in denial, but this was his best mate. The last one. He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay Remus; we'll get back at them. Bellatrix will pay for what she did. I'll make sure of it."

The fire in his eyes was so intense as he said it. Remus wanted to believe him, but he couldn't – no. Just as he had lost his best mate, Harry had lost a godfather, his last hope to live a somewhat normal life. He had to be there if Harry needed him, just as he needed Harry.

"Yes Harry, she will. And don't even think of leaving me out of this. You're all I have left and I'm going to stick with you the whole way, anytime you need my help for anything. Alright?"

'_Anytime for anything… __Even to help me sneak out to Gringotts, Moony? I wonder…'_

Thinking it over for a moment, Harry decided to just ask. Remus would probably agree anyway.

"Okay, Moony. So if I were to ask you for a really big favour…" he trailed off. Remus was giving him an odd look, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Surprise? Joy? Harry couldn't tell.

Of course, Remus was taken aback somewhat that Harry had called him "Moony". And in that faux-innocent tone James or Sirius used to use. He was jumping around, elated that someone would still call him by his schoolyard nickname underneath it all. Currently though, that mischievous look in Harry's eye and the aforementioned not-so innocent voice he used was making Remus wary.

'_I knew it was Sirius'__ fault, corrupting the poor boy, poor, sweet, innocent Harry… I don't think I should be doing any favours he asks of me.'_

That line of thought was quickly halted and violently (but lovingly and oh so very sweetly) stomped to death as Harry gave him that dreaded pout. It wasn't just any pout though, mind you. It was almost like James' pout, a dangerous thing to encounter in and of itself.

James' pout could convince almost anyone to do almost anything; McGonagall never fell for it, but she was impervious to all pouts, save one: Lily Evans'. Her absolutely adorable (and adoring), big-green-eyed, subtly-quivering-lip pout, when she pouted, **could** make anyone do almost anything. Or maybe it could make them do anything, too.

But Harry's pout was different – beyond different. If anything, it was the best (or worst if you want to look at it that way) and potentially most lethal pout in existence. His messy black hair on his petite frame and face – all contributions of his father save the petite part – only made him look more like a child, like a mini-James, more _adorable_. His bottom lip quivered oh so slightly – enough to be noticed but not enough to seem overdone, something Lily never completely mastered. And his eyes – his mother's eyes, grew rounder and began to seem moist as if he was going to cry. In essence, Harry's pout was **the**perfect (read: most dangerous) blend of both his parents' pouts; a spell that could outdo the _Imperio_ if Remus ever saw one.

And so, he caved.

"Alright then, what's this favour?" he sighed, resigning himself to this task, before trying to gain back some semblance of control. "And nothing foolish, I'm not going to risk myself to do something stupid on your behalf. Don't even do anything stupid _yourself_for that matter!"

It was an empty threat; Harry could have ruled the world with that pout. He could have probably convinced Voldemort to kill himself with it. Remus shuddered at that thought.

"Well it's simple really." There was that voice again, and he bit his lip on top of it. "All I need for you to do is sneak me out of here and into Gringotts."

One word. One word was all that Remus needed to hear.

'_Gringotts. Gringotts..? Ah. __ He's going to the will reading as well, then. I guess I can take him, since he asked me personally.'_

He nodded. "Of course Harry. Do you want me to be here at nine so we have time to prepare before the will is read?"

Harry, on the other hand, was confused for a moment.

'_The will? I didn't say anything about… Oh. He must be going to the will reading, too.'_

Shaking his head, he corrected Remus. "Not for the will, but you're welcome to escort me then too, if you want. I need to go there before the will is read, preferably as soon as possible. Maybe tomorrow? I just really need to get there beforehand. Please, Moony?"

'_Not for the will…? Then what for?'_

"I'll take you for the will, but I'm not sure if I can even get you to Diagon Alley before then, let alone Gringotts. Why do you so desperately need to go before then? Can't you just go early next Thursday?"

And Harry gave him the pout. Again. The pout could bring the world to his feet, Remus was sure of it. Stupid pout. So adorable, so pleading, so… so… so _Harry._

"Well – umm… I –"

"_Please,_Moony?"

"But –"

"_Moony?_"

It was all because of that damnable pout. All because of that oh so adorable (read: obey me now or I'll cry, and you really don't want me to cry) pout, Remus was sneaking Harry out of No. 4 Privet Drive to Grintotts the morning of Thursday July the Fourth. No, the irony of his "mission" was not lost on Harry. After all, he'd be signing off for his own independence if he had his way.

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

Sneaking Harry out of No. 4 wasn't as hard as one might think if one even had to think about how to escape. Remus simply swung by "to visit" and then left with Harry in tow underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Hestia Jones was none the wiser as Remus left with a slightly more audible crack.

Finally glad to be rid of the squeezed feeling as he and Remus arrived in an alleyway off the main street, Harry began to take off his Invisibility Cloak when Remus stopped him.

"Not yet, Harry. Wait until we're in Gringotts. Did you bring the letter?"

Harry made a motion to show that he had and the two set off for the grand, white marble steps of Gringotts Bank. It was as splendid and pristine as it always was, at least to Harry. Passing through the white marble columns and through the impressive and intricately-carved doors of the bank, he still couldn't help but be in awe of the place. It wasn't Hogwarts by any stretch, but it was absolutely magnificent in its own right.

Harry followed on Remus' heels up to the teller where the Goblin rather pompously demanded Remus present his Vault Key. Remus shook his head lightly in a negative before leaning in to whisper.

"My apologies, but I'm here with my godson for some matters concerning some of Harry Potter's finances."

"I'm afraid that you and your godson will have to leave –"

"Sir," Harry's voice floated to the goblin from where he stood, still hidden, next to Remus. "I received this letter a few days ago and would appreciate getting some of the business stated therein over with. If we may be allowed to go take care of my business?"

His hand, holding the letter that Remus still did not quite know the complete contents of, suddenly came into existence in front of the Goblin, who quickly snatched it up to read. After a moment, he nodded down at Harry.

"And your Vault Key, Mr. Potter?"

"Is currently not in my possession."

"Then I'm afraid –"

Harry then lifted up part of the cloak to reveal his face, scar, emerald eyes, and all – including _The Pout._

"…Very well, Mr. Potter. An escort will take you to where you need to go."

A goblin soon rushed up to escort the two wizards to the Inheritance Offices.

"Shall we go then, sirs?"

Harry looked at their designated escort then spoke before Remus could reply. "Of course, Griphook. Fate or chance you are my escort again?"

Griphook stood dumbfounded, at least what a goblin would look like dumbfounded, for a moment before shaking his head. Most wizards don't pay much attention to Goblins except for when directly dealing with money after all.

"This way then, Mr. Potter," he finally replied. "You as well Mr. Lupin."

He then led them down more than a few hallways, though the two would adamantly maintain it was a marble maze and they had probably only truly gone 60 metres from where they had started. The odd triad finally came to a stop in front of a door that read: Gar'roc, Main Inheritance Office.

Taking a deep breath before giving Remus the go ahead, Harry let Griphook leave as a somewhat muffled voice yelled, "Come in!"

The door swung open none too gently, despite its understated appearance, and the two walked into what one would call an intimidating office. It wasn't cramped per se, but not overly spacious either and roughly in the centre sat two chairs facing the desk a little father into the room – less than seven steps away. The far right corner had bookshelves along half the wall either way, though only half of any shelf had books. The left wall had a tapestry of what appeared to be one of the Goblin Rebellions, one of the "better" ones by the looks of it, while a myriad of designs with varying intricacy decorated all other stretches of empty scarlet wall in gold and silver lines, even black (_'Obsidian perhaps..?'_).

And sitting behind the desk in a large office chair was Gar'roc, the Head of the Inheritance Office. To his right and left were two trays, labelled In and Out respectively. There was some parchment here and there in their own stacks where he was about finished shuffling them and a small ornate plaque in front with the same label as the door. It was very professional, at least in Harry's opinion.

"Have a seat, Mr. Lupin, so we can get to business," Gar'roc suddenly said. Harry realized they were still standing and moved to sit in the two rather comfortable seats.

"Well I'm actually here with my godson. He wishes to discuss some things with you. Harry, take off the cloak already," saying the last part off to the side at him.

Feeling stupid for forgetting such a thing, he took off the cloak and stuffed it into his pocket before settling himself in. The chair was pretty comfy. He missed seeing Gar'roc stumble over himself, so to speak, as he suddenly appeared out of thin air.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. The letter?" How he managed to not make it sound like a direct command, Harry didn't know, but handed the letter over anyway. The Goblin looked it over for a moment before nodding to himself to confirm Harry's validity. Harry just wanted to get it over with so he could sort through his estate. He hadn't seen to it yet, nor had anyone else, at least, no one else should have.

'_Dumbledore, if I found out you've managed to mess up my inheritance__ as well, whether by neglect, directly, or something else, you will surely regret it. Surely the Dursley issue is enough for reasons I should passionately dislike you.'_

"Well Mr. Potter," Gar'roc's voice shook him from his thought, "I have your emancipation papers here before we get down to business, if you would kindly give a drop of blood in the blank and sign. Everything else should be in order."

'_I would hope so.'_

He slid over a small athame and two sheets of parchment, mostly legalities, with a blank area for his blood near the end of the second where Harry supposed he was to sign as well. After a quick scan to ensure that these were indeed his and that his blood would indeed simply be absorbed, at least as well as he could, he took the athame and pricked his right thumb and let it drop in the blank. The blood seeped into the paper spreading across the blank and even into the text like ghostly inky lines with a slight sizzling hiss.

Harry found it strange that Gar'roc, once again (though he didn't know that), had a look of surprise on his visage. An odd expression for a goblin for all their menacing features. Beside him, Remus also had an odd look upon his face. He sniffed the air, as if checking something, and his frown only grew deeper. Harry didn't know what to think of it.

"Is something… umm… Is there something wrong, sir?" he asked, unsure as to why him doing what he was told would give anyone pause. Then _he_paused.

'_Me actually doing what I'm told. Well there's a first time for everything, though I still don't' see what the big deal is.'_

"Mr. Potter, are you aware that you have toxic blood?" Gar'roc replied, not that it helped Harry get any closer to answering his question. If anything, it stirred up more. Turning to his godfather with a look to ask if Gar'roc was really sane he received the same inquisitive look the Goblin was giving him.

"Harry, have you been letting other snakes bite you? I don't think that…" but Harry had already stopped listening at 'snakes bite'. His mind was bursting with questions. Why would Moony think he had been letting snakes bite him? Did his blood smell venomous? Was there still that much in his blood from Serena's bite two days ago? Was his blood not supposed to sizzle?

"Moony," he unintentionally interrupted the werewolf, not realizing he was still talking, "what does my blood smell like? And don't lie or sugar-coat it. Tell me."

Remus stared for a moment then shared a look with Gar'roc before asking for Harry's hand. He brought it somewhat near and sniffed at the thumb, wary of touching the blood that was still there, minimal as it was. Almost instantly, he reeled back in his chair and let go of Harry's hand. The smell of his blood was absolutely toxic. It almost smelled like Death, with a morbidly sweet perfume to match – the smell of a vilely venomous creature, a snake of the deadliest order.

'_But when would Harry have been near something so venomous? Hagrid doesn't even like snakes, stupid __Slytherin's… fault…'_

And realization dawned on him and he focused back on Harry's face. A face that currently was expressing confusion and a rising panic. He had to calm himself first, though, before he could explain to Harry what he'd figured out. The day was turning out to be quite the wonderful experience.

Harry on the other hand didn't know what to think. First his godfather wants to take a whiff, then suddenly drops his hand and flinches back. What was happening? Was something wrong with his blood? Was he poisoned and just didn't know it? Was he going to die? Why was Remus giving him that look? It would be nice if someone would answer these questions for him!

"Harry, I need you to relax and stay calm, okay? I just need to explain to you," Remus began with a meaningful look in the direction of Gar'roc. It was important the Goblin knew what was going on, especially with Remus' godson. A godson who hadn't gotten any calmer at his statement.

"Remember in your second year, with the whole Chamber of Secrets controversy?"

Then it began to dawn on him, but Harry hoped he was wrong; he nodded anyway.

"Now, do you remember how you saved Ginny? You stabbed it with Gryffindor's sword, right?"

"Y-yea… Through the roof of its mouth." He paused and Remus gave him a knowing look, one of those I-knew-it-but-wish-I-didn't kinds. He didn't want to believe it, but still he ploughed on, hoping the words would come out and be vehemently denied.

"When I did, a fang got me I the arm. It was lodged in there and popped out of the Basilisk's mouth as I pulled away. I yanked it out to stab the diary with it, but I probably would've died if it hadn't been for Fawkes' tears."

There was tense silence after he finished. The other two occupants could only stare at him in awe and mild apprehension. His blood was toxic to any organic material it came in contact with save himself by grace of the phoenix tears occupying the same space of affliction, and on top of that would most likely react violently with anything charmed improperly. Luckily, this time, there were strong protective charms already woven into the parchments used by Goblins, just in case.

"Moony…?" Harry began to ask. He was confused and sounded somewhat desolate, probably still in shock.

"Harry, you have Basilisk venom coursing through your veins. You're most likely not dead because the phoenix tears have become part of your blood too, but it's still very potent. That sizzling you heard earlier was the toxins attempting to eat away at the parchment."

He sat there for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his blood could kill basically anything. On one hand, he had to be very careful with sexual partners, maybe not even sex at all. How was he supposed to enjoy himself _now?_ But, on the other hand, any potion or ritual that required his blood would be tainted if not completely blotched with the Basilisk venom.

Maybe that was why Voldemort turned out so snake-like. Oh well, now he was an ugly thing for his troubles.

"Harry, are you alright?" Remus asked, bringing him back to the office. Gar'roc still sat there behind his desk, but his shock had been hidden by now.

"Err, yea. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about, Moony. It would explain why I still smell of High Snake," he said, turning back to Gar'roc. "Do you have a list of my inheritances, sir? That was what I came here to take care of."

"Please, Mr. Potter, just call me Gar'roc."

"Then call me Harry."

"Of course, Mr. Pot- Harry. You should be receiving quarterly statements on your parent's estate, so I'm assuming you wish to discuss the will of Mr. Black?"

'_I'm supposed to be receiving bank statements? Since when?'_

"I'm sorry, Gar'roc, but I haven't received any bank statements," he cut in before pausing. "Should I have?"

Surprised, something he associated with Harry now, Gar'roc quickly wrote a small note and placed it in the Out tray where it poof'd away.

"My apologies, Harry, but I must check on something. Some Goblins have a way of being bribed. Here's to hoping it was human error."

A small poof from the In tray signalled the arrival of what was presumably the return note. Gar'roc snatched it up and read it quickly, his eyes narrowing and a slight scowl coming to his features as he finished.

"It would seem, Mr. Potter, that the quarterly statements were sent out – owled to Albus Dumbledore, your magical guardian, as would be procedure. There have been some withdrawals from your Trust Vault as well, but there was no complaint of it after each statement was sent. Mind you, these weren't simple yearly Diagon Alley trip withdrawals. Several hundred Galleons have been withdrawn in all since you've accessed the vault, most within the last year."

Harry at this point was trying to suppress the urge to hex something. Preferably Dumbledore, but he wasn't available at the moment. Besides, it wouldn't do to cause a commotion in this office.

'_How__**dare**__ he? He always keeps me in the dark. If he had simply asked for it, I probably would've given it to him. But no, he couldn't do that, could he? Wouldn't be able to keep me in the dark then. It still gives him no right to abuse his power. You've crossed the line, Dumbledore, and you will surely regret it.'_

"I take it these weren't sanctioned by you? Perhaps an investigation is in order then."

"No."

"Come again?"

"I said no. I know who it is. _Dumbledore_ has been making those withdrawals for his own purposes. I haven't received a bank statement from Gringotts in my life. The first and only letter I've ever gotten was the request to attend the hearing of the will. I'm assuming the statements should have been passed on by him?"

"Indeed they were. I shall draw up the Potter estate then, if you would give me a moment. Would you like to go over the Black estate meanwhile?"

It couldn't hurt, so Harry nodded and took the assortment of parchment pertaining to the Black Estate. There wasn't that much to look at, until you decided to read what was written, and you could write a lot on those few sheets of parchment as it turned out. Harry was now in possession of enough for him and his close friends to live out the rest of their lives in comfort, by grace of the Black Estate alone.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," he read aloud. He was now in possession of three substantial properties other than the one at Grimmauld Place, as well as two vaults. Or more precisely, one stand alone and two vaults in one, all loaded with priceless heirlooms and magical artefacts as well as what would be mountains of Galleons when he went in to look for himself.

He could only stare at the parchment lying before him, a rather undignified look of shock on his face. He fell back into his chair, passing the sheets over to let Remus have a look see, not even bothering to look over the specifics. And then he heard Remus falling back into his own chair.

"Oh my…," was all he said, and it summed it up quite nicely if Harry did say so himself. But then a rather sudden guest decided to make its – rather _her_presence known. The little black head poking out the neck of Harry's oversized tee snapped him back to reality, if only by more shock.

§ Harry? Are you alright? § Serena inquired. It was a perfectly innocent question, on its own.

'_No, I'm not alright. Do I look alright to you? Snakes… ugh.'_

A threatening hiss and two crimson orbs staring him down told him he'd actually voiced the thought, and in Parseltongue nonetheless.

§ Hehe… Slip of the tongue? § Another hiss. § Alright, I'm sorry Serena. Things are just suddenly very hectic. I even forgot you were here, not that you've bothered to remind me until now. §

Under the soft ministrations of Harry's fingers and attempt at soothing words, Serena relaxed. Curled up around his shoulders, it seemed, would come to be her resting spot as she did just that.

§ Harry, you're not very good at soothing others with words. Shut up. §

§ Oh ha-ha. Very funny, Serena. Now I want you to answer a question for me. Do you smell the scent of High Snake more strongly now than when we first met? §

Pausing a moment to look at him first, she tasted the air around her. Her eyes widened a fraction, at least it seemed so to Harry.

§ Did you kill another? Was that the commotion from earlier? Why would you kill another?! I should bite you again you–! §

§ Serena! Calm down. Just answer the question, is the scent stronger? §

Never let it be said the Harry Potter couldn't be serious. Serena was under no such impression, especially not when under the scrutiny of such an intense look. Who knew green could look so much like cold fire?

§ Yes, it is. § Then a bit more hesitantly, § Why do you ask? §

§ That, is the smell of one drop of my blood. Care to take another whiff? §

If ever there was a snake that could truly express its shock, Serena did. Her mouth literally hung open, her eyes rounder than they should be. Harry would've chuckled if it wasn't as serious. His lips still twitched at the ends.

It was then that Gar'roc returned, only to freeze as his gaze fell upon the red-eyed black serpent around Harry's shoulders. He looked to Remus, but was only greeted with the same expression as his own, even though the werewolf had been there the whole time. Clearing his throat, he addressed Harry.

"Here is the Potter Estate detail, as you requested, Mr. Potter."

Taking the new set of parchment with no small amount of trepidation, Harry proceeded to get business over with. He would worry about the rest later. The Family Crest, motto and all, was emblazoned across the top.

_The Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter_

_Honour, Above All Else_


	5. The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!

**A/N**: Sorry this chapter is going to be rather awkward-ish, but I had some problems with it. It wasn't writer's block per se, but I could figure out how to phrase certain things I was trying to have happen, as I'm sure you'll notice. All in all though, I think it turned out well. Tell me what ya think, mmkay?

**Summary:** 'I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed…' Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.

§ Parseltongue §

"_Telepathy__**/Legilimency"**_

'_Thoughts_'

* * *

**The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!**

Now let's take a step back or two and look at Harry's life. His parents died when he was one, then he was shipped off to live with his "relatives", and crappy ones at that. For the next ten years he was emotionally and physically neglected – underfed, shoved into the cupboard under the stairs, and addressed as "freak" should he even be noticed. And of course there was also the manual labour he was forced to do.

In short, Harry had a terribly lacking childhood. Then he turns eleven and comes into the world of magic. There is now a place where he belongs, where things can go well for him. For the most part, yes, things do go well, and he's fine with that. He's never truly had much: a pathetic excuse for a room, even for a child, with no friends and toys to play with, or time to play for that matter. Nothing to something – anything – better is more than anyone could want at that point.

And now he's inherited more than enough money for perhaps his grandkids and maybe even great-grandkids to be well off, unless somebody does something terribly stupid and granted that he had any. So keeping all of this in mind, we're going to step back in and watch Harry's reaction.

Harry almost fainted.

He had managed to fall out of the chair while trying to stand up, or at least hopefully he was going to stand up, and then tumbled rather indignantly on the floor. His shocked expression didn't leave him throughout the whole ordeal: wide-eyed and slack-jawed the whole way down. Somehow, Serena managed to escape the fall and get over to Gar'roc's desk, smiling in an attempt to not laugh at him.

And lying scattered around Harry on the floor were the sheets of parchment detailing the rather extensive Potter Estate. Still rather shocked – eyes wide though no longer slack-jawed – Harry slowly picked up the parchment and got back into his chair. He could only stare blankly at the script before him. There on the first page was a summary of his assets: three houses – manors really, some properties here and there, and three vaults, including his soon-to-no-longer-be trust vault, all filled full of gold and valuables.

Including the Black Estate, the value of his liquid assets alone was just shy of ten digits (in Galleons). Not that it was really that big of a shock to anyone save Harry himself, the Potters just never flaunted what they had. Well, the extent of it all would probably shock anybody, but everyone knew they were well off. This finally clicked for Harry: he was _very _rich.

He had just become the direct heir to two of the wealthiest and most prominent pureblood families in Wizarding Britain.

'_This can't be real. It just can't be… can it? But how…?'_

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I'm reading this right. Gar'roc, could you explain this to me?" he asked with a nervous laugh. "I haven't read any actual bank document before…"

The Goblin took the parchment and looked over it before nodding and handing it back. The way he did it in no way helped Harry feel better. His nervous laugh had long died, and he simply sat there looking every bit someone who knew what was coming and wished they could bolt before it did. Not that Gar'roc noticed any of this; he just explained what was recorded.

"It would seem, Mist– _Harry_, that you are now the richest individual in the British Isles. Congratulations. As it is, that also makes you a very valuable investor here at Gringotts. What more can we do for you?" he said, finishing on the question with the Goblin rendition of a smile.

Harry couldn't handle anymore of this. At this rate, he likely would faint.

"This can't be right, Gar'roc!" he blurted. "These statements don't make any sense. This amount of money can't possibly exist!"

"I assure you, Harry that those statements mean exactly what they say. You own those manors, and you have full access to all those vaults."

The Goblin proceeded to give Harry a flat stare, wondering why he wouldn't just accept his inheritance and continue on with business as would be usual.

"Is there anything else you are baffled about, Mr. Potter?" he managed to say without being sinister. To Harry, it seemed as if Gar'roc was done throwing things his way so he was safe, for now at least.

"No, that will be alright Gar'roc. I'll just uh, look these over right now. Would it be a terrible thing to impose upon you to escort me to the Potter vaults?"

The sudden change of the Goblin's disposition was startling to be blunt. Goblin faces aren't structured for happy expressions, especially not after something resembling a mild scowl. Harry wondered if it was because he'd decided to be polite. An affronting thought – he had manners, just not necessarily the same as everyone else's.

"Not imposing, Harry. Not at all. Just a moment and we may go. Feel free to look over your estate meanwhile," the Goblin replied. The three then set about looking over last details in this or that, depending on who it was. Serena just enjoyed staying curled up in Harry's lap, where she had somehow migrated back to from the desk.

« --- »

When they finally began their way down into the catacomb of vaults, Harry noticed that Gar'roc wasn't in any hurry. In other words, the speed of the cart was relatively slow compared to the usual trips down there to his vault, not that it wasn't still quick. It eventually slowed down as they got deeper, ironically – enough so that Harry could make out some of the family vaults down here.

"_That was the Malfoy vault, I think – it seemed overly ornate enough. There goes the Longbottom vault, seems ancient. Oh__, what's that one? Peverell? Who are they? And where's the Black family vault? Huh? What's that…?"_

They had finally slowed down to such a point that they might actually be stopping at the next vault. The doors to these vaults were obviously done by families who wished to show their prestige. Grandiose might even be too mild a word to describe their intricacy. Coats of arms in myriads of colours and styles decorated the aged but magically preserved wood. But before the three mortals now stood one elaborate yet relatively simple set of towering double doors.

Emblazoned across the ancient entrance was a more antique and stylized version of the Potter family crest done in various scarlets and golds with accents of green, mild blues, and even some silver. Around the crest there were other small insignia resembling other crests themselves, but the nearest, and apparently newest, was that of House Black. It seemed the estate had been already drawn under as part of Potter property, though Harry was unsure if the Black vault were still separate. He'd ask Gar'roc later.

The three stood there, taking in the magnificence of it, until Gar'roc brought them back to the real world. It would seem that the Goblin was very eager to see of the rumoured treasures that lay within the Potter vault. A family that didn't flaunt around indeed.

"Here we are Harry, the Potter Vault. Things have been moved around over the years, but this vault has always been here, though certainly not always as grand. Just step up to the doors if you would like to have a look see."

Harry couldn't believe it. If the door was this amazing, what awaited him on the other side? Slowly approaching the double doors as if upon sacred ground, he began to understand the reality of his wealth. Well now that he had it, it wouldn't be going to waste. Right now, life was good and Harry would prefer to prolong the moment of perfection. So first thing on the agenda, inventory of all material possessions.

And what an inventory it was. The vault was quite literally flooding with priceless heirlooms between the mountains of silver, gold, and bronze. Harry decided to just sort everything by major groups: tapestries, weapons, magical artefacts, valuable trinkets, books, and jewels. And that was not including the miscellaneous things lying about.

Remus and Gar'roc could only stare in awe as Harry went about sorting everything out, setting aside his amazement for later. The vault itself was huge! But with a ceiling at least 3 stories high with walls beyond view, huge would be an understatement. They snapped out of their stupors when they saw Harry coming back to them, an expression of awe on his face.

"This is amazing Gar'roc. Absolutely fantastic! If there is some bottomless money pouch somewhere, I would like to take just a handful or two of everything. This is bloody FANTASTIC!"

"It is quite the pit of wealth you have here Mr. Potter. If you honestly wish to take so much, there is a bottomless money pouch over there by the door"

"Thank you Gar'roc! Come on Remus! Help me grab stuff!" he yelled, pure excitement filling his voice much like a small child. He dragged Remus off with a bottomless pouch and soon the two were rushing all over grabbing handfuls from any mountain of gems or coins they came by while Gar'roc just stood watching by the entrance.

« --- »

By the time Harry and Remus left Gringotts that Thursday evening, Harry was carrying with him in his pocket more than some people make in a year; Gar'roc was one very happy Goblin; none of the three could stop smiling obscenely; and the sun was beginning to set. Harry and Remus planned on doing the exact same thing come next Thursday to sneak Harry out of the house, but as always things never go according to plan when Harry's involved.

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

Most people think of Friday as a good day. The work week is ending, Saturday is just beyond reach, and it's THE Party day. On Friday, people are just happy that this week is over, almost. And when everyone's happy, things go well. Harry woke up most definitely more chipper that morning than any other over the summer, or any other time when he had been in the Dursley household.

Today was his first day of freedom.

Crawling out of bed carefully so as not to disturb Serena curled up to one side, he went downstairs and began to make breakfast – because he could rather than for duty to anyone else. A complete English Breakfast lay waiting on the table for them before any of the Dursleys had gotten down stairs. The first to arrive, as per usual, was Petunia and Harry had just set down the last steaming plate when he heard her slight intake of breath.

So far, it seemed as if the day would only get better.

"Good morning Aun – "

And then, quite not literally since magic does exist, the sky fell the first time. Well Petunia semi-fainted and her husband, who had just arrived behind her, wholly did. Dudley wasn't awake yet, or at least not awake and downstairs – not that it really matters right now. Vernon Dursley had just, for lack of a better term, keeled over and, though the settings at the table remained secure, the house (or the kitchen at any rate) received a small tremor.

Personally, I would've thought the sky was falling too. The thought did bring Petunia back from her half-faint though, so I guess it's a good thing.

Harry stood where he had braced himself between a chair and the counter, trying his hardest not to laugh at the notion of the house shaking under Vernon's weight. And Petunia, for all the concern on her face, still had a faint twinkle in her eye as she checked him over.

'_He probably __won't wake for another few minutes,'_ she thought,_ 'and I'll be damned if I miss out on a steaming fresh breakfast to wait for him, or Dudley for that matter.'_

And with that thought in mind, she proceeded to the table where Harry was waiting for her. Dudley still had not shown up, so aunt and nephew sat down aside each other as per usual and began to eat. Harry was just reaching for a slice of orange when Vernon began to stir, and a few moments after as Petunia finished her eggs that Dudley arrived. The two Dursley men started a little seeing their wife/mother sitting at the table with the bane of their existence. Dudley then noticed the food, and the odd picture was pushed to the back of his mind for the moment.

Vernon, on the other hand, began to go through his shades of red along the road to puce. It was oddly amusing for Harry to watch colours progress in seemingly slow motion. Before, Vernon's face would just change into what ever degree of red/puce matched his level of rage.

And then, just shy of being puce-y (or is it puke-y?) Vernon exploded and ruined everyone else's breakfast; the sky fell a second time.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? BOY, WHY ARE YOU EATING AT MY TABLE?!"

He obviously hadn't calmed down since Wednesday night. But that was okay, Harry could do magic now – he was untouchable.

"Vernon – "

"UNCLE Vernon to YOU, BOY!" he interrupted.

Ignoring him, Harry continued on, "Vernon, I can do magic now."

And then he began to reach for his back pocket, but his wand wasn't there. _'Uh-oh. Damnit! I left it upstairs. Shit….'_

Vernon also noticed this, "Oh really? Then why don't you blast me out of here you piece of filth."

And Harry would have. But instead, he stood there almost like a deer caught in headlights. Instinctually, he began to slip into "battle mode" – his shabby mental barriers locked into place; he began to focus on his primary visual opponent(s) and escape routes; his body tensed, ready to flee. And then Vernon got in his first hit. Before Harry could even move.

His reflexes were too little too late and he was punched right in the side of the face, slamming him into the chair behind him in a spin and almost the counter as well. He was just staggering up when Vernon managed to hit him again. His fight or flight instinct from before had turned into panic – how was he going to fight or flee from this?

Meanwhile, after suddenly standing up, Petunia tried to stop her husband from beating up the boy further. She merely got shoved back where she tripped over her overturned chair. And in his seat with half a piece of pancake hanging from his mouth was Dudley, staring rather blankly at the scene.

Then, something in Dudley snapped, and he leapt up towards his father, just as his mother had. Harry, in his state of fear and patheticness, thought Dudley was going to help Vernon beat him to a pulp. Dudley's offer to "take care of the filth" for his father so Vernon could eat and get to work only reinforced that idea, and Harry was then dragged upstairs not un-roughly, but not quite un-gently either.

« --- »

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Dudley bent over to pick up Harry's mostly limp body, still with a disgusted scowl upon his face, and carried his cousin to his "room". All these years, and it was still just as bear as it always had been when Harry had first moved into it. Dudley remembered that the room used to be storage for his extra stuff.

'_Extra. Pft. Everything I have is extra.'_

Heading over to the bed and carefully laying Harry down on the bed, Dudley began to wonder exactly what he was doing. Well he knew what he was doing; he was helping Harry, little as he could. The real question was, why?

As far as he remembered, the relationship between Harry and himself had always been antagonistic, with him as the bad guy. And when they grew older, the torments grew with them – from intentional negligence to slight physical abuse to verbal onslaughts to physical torment. He couldn't seem to remember a time when he cared, and wondered why he cared now.

Still pondering, he tended to Harry, carefully removing his shirt and making sure he was comfortable. Dudley didn't know much about medicine, but he knew how to tend to welts from fists – he'd been in boxing after all. Doing the best he could with what was available and without alerting his parents, he set about keeping Harry from needing to be hospitalized. It was the best he could do, and it probably helped that Harry was too out of it to protest.

Then again, Dudley couldn't remember when Harry had put up much resistance to anything. Sure he did, but it wasn't much. And the memories just came to him as he kept thinking, times when he and the gang would chase Harry. Or when he would kick Harry around a bit… for some reason he couldn't quite grasp. It was there, just out of his reach. But Dudley kept after that one thought – memory – that eluded him because he knew that this… reason was crucial to how his childhood had played out. How Harry's childhood had played out.

It was then that Harry began to come to, no longer in his pain-induced daze and with a clearer mind. He obviously was conscious the whole time, but was either too weak or did not care to do anything. But, what caught Dudley's attention and brought light to the fact Harry was here and no longer in la-la land was one simple phrase, nay, one word – his name.

"D...Dudl-ley?"

It wasn't just that it was his name, it was the way Harry had said it. His voice sounded so lost… confused. A myriad of questions hidden in there, most of them Why's. There was almost a desperate or desolate sound to it, as if the last thing of any value to him was on the brink of disappearing. The small pang of pain laced into it from Harry's injuries only added to the effect, but the effect reached deeper than one would think. It triggered Dudley's memory. The one thing he couldn't grasp, the vital reason behind all of _this,_was finally revealed to him.

There, in their distant pasts, Harry and Dudley sat together – two toddlers just playing around like they all do. Dudley's parents, especially his father, didn't like the boy, but Dudley couldn't see why. The boy seemed friendly enough and lived with him, maybe they could play together. It was an innocent thought, and the two boys themselves were for naturally all intents innocent.

Dudley had only wanted a playmate and who better than one his age and lived with him. The two had gotten along well as all young children seem to. In only a few minutes, the two might as well have been bestest of pals. And they probably would have been, had Vernon not stepped in.

Upon noticing his son _near _that…_thing_, Vernon had bolted (stomped quickly and rather sloppily) over to the two boys and roughly yanked his son away. Simultaneously, he managed to get a hit in at the little freak, weak and sloppy though it was.

Then Harry had asked the question. The exact same question that was still just as packed when asked years later after Dudley decided to snap out of whatever fourteen-year long dream he'd been in. The dream? To have his father love him, adore him, be proud of him. He'd had his dream, but at a price – Harry and, just as important if not more so, himself.

And that was the reason for it all, for all of this. The reason why Dudley had tormented Harry – to be in his father's good graces, to be the son he should have already been just because. It was very much an epiphany, but that is a word most people associate with something good. This sudden realization was indeed good, but it was the painful side of it. The sudden tidal wave of remorse, sorrow, and rage could not be contained or controlled, and he broke down.

He did not know exactly when it happened, but in the midst of his tears and what he would later realize was himself rocking back and forth Dudley was caught up in a comforting embrace. Harry's embrace.

« --- »

The seemingly out of body sensation he had been in was fading away and Harry was most sure of it. The slightly painful throbbing all over his upper body, though nothing compared to Voldemort's Crucio, ironically now brought more clarity to his mind where before it was what had caused his stupor. He remembered what had happened, and so many questions now flew about his head. Why this and why that, all voiced in one single word, one single enquiry.

And then things fell apart, not that they had been together since Aunt Petunia had finished her eggs. He had indeed gotten Dudley's attention as he had intended, he just did not get the expected reaction. Dudley turned around, probably at the sound of his voice, but Harry didn't expect Dudley to suddenly just freeze and go glassy-eyed.

He most certainly did not expect to see Dudley begin to tremble as he slowly slipped to the ground, whimpering sounds and an expression of pain becoming more prominent on the way down. And he sat there, rocking back and forth slightly – completely vulnerable. It was a rather astonishing sight, and Harry had no idea what had brought it on. The tears that finally spilled down Dudley's cheeks keyed Harry into the fact that Dudley was having a breakdown.

"D-Dudley? Dudley. Dudley?!"

The boy didn't respond and Harry struggled to get up and over to the sobbing mass. He didn't know what he would do when he got there, but he had to do _something – _cruel tormentor of a cousin or not! Perhaps it was his Gryffindor chivalry, or foolishness, but Harry tried his best to get over there and… and… comfort him? Knowing his thoughts were getting him nowhere he shrugged them off and just followed his instincts – they had done him plenty good before.

His instincts led him to be embracing his – tormentor, cousin? – he did not know what think of him anymore. And then Dudley spoke.

"I'm sowwy Hawwy…"

Thus the effect he had started came back on him and Harry was thrust back to a day more than a decade past when two boys thought they had found a wonderful playmate. When two boys were simply that – two boys, both enjoying their afternoon as all toddlers are wont to do. And now here they sat, two teenagers living through the crux of their childhoods. One event from years ago that began a chain of events that would shape their relationships, their personalities, for a good decade.

So sobbing there against each other, Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley came to a silent resolution of their enmity. Not a complete one by any means, but it was something. Unknown to them, Petunia Dursley had peaked in through the door to see what was going on, and satisfied with what she saw, silently headed back downstairs to clean up the mess her husband had left in her kitchen.

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ****¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

"Harry?" Dudley finally asked after the two had been sitting in silence, dried trails of tears still on their cheeks. "What are we doing?"

Well the two knew what they were doing. But could they admit it to each other, to themselves?

"I… I don't know." And Harry didn't really. No one had ever comforted him before, he had never broken down before, and any other breakdown situations he had encountered had proven him clueless as to what to do. The two were simply stuck in silence – not quite awkward, but not comfortable either. And then the two spoke, or tried to.

"Harry-"

"Y'know-"

Sheepish, each motioned for the other to go first. It was the typical "you go first, no you go first" exchange, neither really winning the small argument. That is, until Harry flinched. He was still injured, even if he was somewhat treated, minor first-aid job it was. So, Dudley went first.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"No… no, it's okay. I probably couldn't do better myself, and I would make it worse in the process."

"No, Harry." That made Harry look up, confused. "I'm sorry for everything."

He wasn't expecting that, but he wasn't expecting anything else that had happened today either.

"I know sorry doesn't fix it all, but I don't know what else I can do. Ever since that day, I've done all I could to keep my father happy, to keep him from being angry at me. I'm sorry if… sorry that I stood by and let it happen. That I let myself fall into the same patterns…"

"Patterns? Oh? So it wasn't yourself, then? Then what was it, Dudley? People don't just suddenly change! Why are you here? Why did you… did you save me…" Harry trailed off, not really himself and just filled with so many questions… so many whys. It was all complicated, nothing was making sense; Harry just wanted to understand what was going on.

And Dudley was the only one who could answer them.

"I'm sorry Harry. I only wanted to please my father. Pft. Some father. I took up boxing to take out my frustration, you know. At first I thought it was because you weren't there for those months of the year, and I had to beat up something. But then it became something else, or I began to realize, and it wasn't because I wanted to beat you up. I was just frustrated – with my life, who I was, how things had turned out. I was tired of doing what my father expected of me."

The look on his face was something of the likes Harry had never seen. It was broken and remorseful, vulnerable and pleading. He had never seen such an open expression, so raw and gnawing at him. If nothing else, Dudley's expression gave Harry a reason to believe him. But Dudley wasn't done.

"But it seemed whenever you came home, nothing had changed. I'd fall back into old habits, though I was disgusted at myself the whole way. You were the last thing – the only thing – that was left. I didn't know what to do when it came to you."

There was a pause then, and Dudley had trailed off to look unfocusedly at the floor. The two sat there one more in an odd silence, lost in their thoughts. Harry began to see that Dudley didn't need to do anymore, he had tortured himself enough working through this mess Vernon had thrown them in. But then what was this morning? Why all of a sudden?

"And then this morning," Dudley began again, catching Harry off guard. "This morning something just snapped when I saw him being so… so irrational, so violent. So I stepped in, and here we are."

Harry didn't know what to say. Well he knew he wanted to say something to comfort Dudley, alleviate his guilt or something of that sort. But how was he going to say that? Again not knowing what to do, and letting his instincts lead him, Harry reached over and attempted to bring Dudley into and embrace. Attempted since Dudley, fat or muscle, was still two of Harry. But it was enough, and for the first time Harry could remember, he saw Dudley truly smile – a small smile, but one happy beyond words.


	6. BLITZKRIEG! BLITZKRIEG! London Blitz?

**A/N**: Oh wow. This is REALLY late. Sorry you guys. I'm not going to give you the excuse of having all these piles of hw – even though I do. I shrug them off all the time anyway. I just… didn't get around to it? Yeah… so if this chapter seems a bit off at first, that's because I couldn't get smoothly into where I left off. No worries though, I'm actually devoting time to this now instead of… whatever it was I did before. This is because of the school year ending, actually. Yea, I'm backwords like that. NOW OFF WITH YOU. I EXPECT A REVIEW… from _somebody…_

**Summary:** 'I can't stand this: my mentor the King of Lies, my nemesis the Gospel, my friends my enemies, and a Slytherin in my bed…' Harry knew it to be true and always did, but that didn't make the truth any easier to cope with, just easier to keep it hidden.

§ Parseltongue §

"_Telepathy__**/Legilimency"**_

'_Thoughts _'

* * *

**BLITZKRIEG! BLITZKRIEG! ... London Blitz?**

While shakily, the rest of the weekend went as originally planned, save for having to avoid Vernon and hide what had practically become an in-house revolution. Harry didn't want a repeat of Friday, and most definitely did not want to worsen his only half-healed injuries, but it was a Saturday and despite the fiasco of yesterday morning, he would enjoy it dammit. He wasn't going to let Vernon ruin his good week now.

So there he was, in his room, wondering what to do since he _could _use magic and there was plenty of magic that could be done. He decided just to refresh (besides save himself from boredom) and "review" his school books. Mostly he really just used little charms to do this or that, maybe just play with sparks. Hey, he could do magic legally, he could play around with just sparks if he wanted to. You would too if you had a wand.

Anyhow, that's where we find Harry James Potter (though he thought an alias down the line might not be a bad idea) on the afternoon of Saturday the 6th of July. Then the bruises on his arms became too much and his arms were actually beginning to feel sore, so he had to stop his wand waving for the moment.

'_Hmm. Well I can still practice Occlumency, I guess. Should probably get a book on that, just so I have a guide. Should get a book of basic healing spells too, so I'm not in the Hospital Wing as often as the dorm. I could really use a book like that right now.'_

And he mentally sighed knowing today would be like a day in Trelawney's class – essentially just theory and no foreseeable practical. Sighing again, he began to clear his mind, when it occurred to him. Why should he clear his mind, when that would only clear the way for any intruders?

'_It would__ be better if I clouded mind, wouldn't it? Then people would have to get through the mess. But if it's supposed to be a barrier, doesn't it need a shape?'_

Thus with that thought began an interesting weekend of moulding Occlumency barriers. Yes, plural, because Harry had come to discover that a) it was possible, and b) it would be beneficial. A very important discovery indeed, as seen by the resulting landscape. Harry was just doing some rounds on his just finished "outer mindscape" as he'd termed it when they were put to the test Sunday evening. Apparently Voldemort wasn't that weak after the encounter in the Department of Mysteries. That or it was habitual for him by now to try and pry into Harry's head.

**« -- »**

He was walking just on the inside of the boundary between the Illusory Forest and the Myst when he saw something shift in the foggy shadows. Something had wandered in from the Void beyond, so it would seem. It was odd, actually seeing the shifting of the Myst from where he stood at the edge of the forest. Not that it seemed like the edge of the forest, more like the middle of one. But that's where it ended, and then there was the thick wall of Myst.

And whatever it was that was moving in there was heading closer. Harry hid behind a nearby tree, curious to see if the presence would actually get all the way to the forest. He could feel it moving through the Myst, through the surface of his mind and thoughts, but it payed them no mind – just kept moving. Harry wasn't sure what he would do once the presence reached the Forest, which he was sure it would. And as the presence became closer, Harry felt more certain that it was indeed Voldemort trying to make his way in once again. Deciding it was so, he faded back to the centre of his mind where he was truly omniscient of the whole mindscape and prepared to orchestrate a grand illusion, or a good one at any rate. It was the purpose of the Illusory Forest.

As was the case, Voldemort moved slowly trying to get to what he perceived to actually be Harry's Mind, not whatever foggy place he was currently in. He thought he was still in the Void, just now making his way into Harry's mind. Ah, there it was – the end of this… fog he was stuck in and his destination. Not that he really should be breaking into minds in the state he was in.

'_Not that it's__ difficult to get into Potter's head. I must thank Severus for battering away at his mental defences. Now what have we here…?'_

The Big Bad Dark Lord Voldemort had finally come upon the edge of the Illusory Forest. But he didn't know that, and hence he would be falling for the trap it was.

And up in his "command centre", Harry watched as a Moldyworts-Tom Riddle cross made his way into the Forest. The dark, slightly curly hair falling down about his ears; the pale, _human _face with a nose and lips blank; still scarlet eyes looking around in confusion; the tall form, but not unnaturally so like before, making its way through the Forest; nimble, but still human hands holding an imaginary wand – habit for any similar situation.

'_Must be what he looks like before he goes all ugly in those nightmares he sends. Regardless, now the grand illusion begins. First, some light.'_

In the forest, Voldemort noticed things becoming… brighter, as if though the forest was welcoming home an old friend._ 'Interesting…'_ he smirked to himself.

'_Then, some allure…'_

In his… _pleasant _wondering through this unique landscape that had appeared in Potter's head, Voldemort suddenly came across a smell very pleasing to him. He really shouldn't get distracted, but that smell was so nice. He had never encountered such a thing before, and he just had to know what it was.

And now that Voldemort was off the path, rearrangement.

It was a while before Voldemort began to realize he had gotten no closer to the smell, and that things were beginning to seem familiar. Had he been walking around in circles? And in Potter's head! Perhaps he should return to leave a reminder some other night.

_**Perhaps you should. Then, perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck chasing after some phantom smell. Go on then, get back to your own body. You can't waste time in here.**_

The voice sounded odd; he'd never had another speak to him while he was outside of his mind. Then again, he'd never been in another's mind for so long before. Perhaps it was his conscience. But that was ridiculous! So shrugging off the voice whispering softly around him, Mr. Not-So-Snake-Face began to investigate, taking random turns in an attempt to outwit this ever changing forest. While the path did begin to stop seeming familiar, the smell was still there, growing steadily stronger as he went in a certain direction. Was he headed the right way?

And then it began to get clearer, the dimness of the forest slowly growing brighter. He was almost there. He could feel the end of the forest coming. He was so close, and then he could wreak havoc upon the boy's mind. It was petty revenge, and he knew it was, but the boy had done a lot of damage to him, not that he could complain about the results of the process and potions it took to heal.

Suddenly, he could see it, the "light at the end of the tunnel" as it were. Stepping through it, he finally came upon the end of the forest. Right into a grassy field. Some flowers dotted the expanse of green here and there, as well as a tree or two. It was a magnificent sight, but the Dark Lord did not linger on the thought long, focusing again on his task. That is, until a butterfly suddenly flitted by his face.

It wasn't just any common butterfly, however. The palm sized insect had beautiful emerald wings, shimmering as it flittered about, holding the Dark Lord's attention. Then the voice came back (with his mind too distracted to ignore it as he had been since the first time).

_**You should leave. Then, perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in Potter's mind, chasing after some silly, forgotten purpose. Go on then, get back to your own body. You can't waste time in here**__** if you are so easily distracted.**_

And he listened to it (for once) and left. Not once did he even think the voice could have been Harry's, the hazy effects of the Forest still lingering despite his best efforts.

Harry on the other hand, was glad to finally have gotten Voldemort out. He did not have the more intricate or automatic traps ready yet, though it would have been interesting to keep the Dark Lord entertained in a simple state of mind. Nonetheless, Harry let him go, persuading him to leave gently, for reasons he wasn't completely sure of yet.

But with that done, his mind was sure to be safe for the time being and Harry was exhausted. He would get back to making sure all his defences were their best later. And with that, he was back in the real world, getting ready for bed that seventh day of that seventh month (would Sunday also count as the seventh day of the week, or the first?).

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

When Harry woke up Monday morning, he wasn't expecting anything except the same thing as the past two days – no aunt screaming at him to get up, no uncle yelling at him in her place, and no cousin being a pain in the rear. He didn't expect anything different and headed downstairs for breakfast, leaving Serena to her whims for the morning. To his surprise, though he really shouldn't have been, Aunt Petunia was already setting the table when he got there.

"Good morning, Harry. Toast?" she offered with a smile. It was a pleasant change.

"Good morning, Aunt Petunia. Have any jam?" he returned in kind, glad to see things were still going well after holing himself up in his room for the weekend. Now all that remained, was Dudley (since Vernon wouldn't be changing his mindset any time soon, if ever).

And speak of the devils, the Dursley men came down the stairs. Vernon, in his rush to the table and then off to work, was first down, pounding on the step the whole way. Dudley followed him more sedately hoping today wouldn't be a repeat of Friday morning. If push came to shove, he wasn't sure what he would do, and that thought disturbed him more than he would like.

Upon entering the kitchen, Vernon's first thought was food – Harry hadn't sat down yet, y'see. So, with no obvious freakish presence seated at his table, Vernon began to dig into the pile of pancakes and what have you laying there. Petunia had outdone herself this time, and Harry too. There was perhaps a triple helping of a Full English Breakfast at the table. Harry had his suspicions that Petunia had bought most of this ready-made and had it stored in the ice-box where Vernon wouldn't see it.

Nonetheless, he cautiously pulled out a chair – which did catch Vernon's attention. Under the completely unnoticeable sideways gaze of Vernon, Harry offered the seat to his aunt. Dudley finally reached the table, and Harry pulled out a chair for him as well. Whether Petunia and Dudley noticed that he had changed the seating arrangement by doing so, neither said a word and began to eat breakfast despite Vernon's change in pace – too busy watching the "freak" to devote all his attention to eating.

Harry then carefully pulled out the chair across from Vernon and sat down. The settings had been arranged as they normally would have sat, though Harry's and Dudley's plate had the same amount for once. Still, the two were now in opposite seats, and still under the beady eyes of Vernon, Harry calmly switched their plates even though Dudley had started eating.

Dudley didn't expect Harry to go so far, but glancing at his _father _he saw a glint of something – smugness? It seems that things were a tad more twisted than they first appeared, and this quiet revolution would indeed continue on – hopefully unnoticed as it had been. Noting this for later, he once again began to eat, though somewhat guiltily since this WAS Harry's plate and he had already eaten a third of the other; Harry wasn't allowed second helpings – they all knew that.

Petunia was worried for her nephew. She knew why he did what he did and the necessity of it – what she disliked was the necessity at all. He shouldn't have to do this anymore – he was properly emancipated and able to do what he wanted. Why was he just sitting there and letting this happen?

Harry, oblivious to the thoughts of everyone else save the tension in the air, simply began to eat his breakfast. They would see what he was doing soon enough, if all went according to plan. And being the perfect little snake she is, there Serena came down the hall to the kitchen.

§ Harry, why are the people in the room staring at you? And why is nobody eating? Espcecially YOU. I demand you eat your breakfast! §

Smirking to himself, Harry turned and began to set his plan in motion, hoping it wouldn't fail.

§ It's alright, Serena. All you have to do is come up here and present yourself to the family. I'm not sure how much they'll mind, but I don't mind at all. Now what would you like, bacon or toast? §

The Dursleys sat still, unsure what to make of the fourth member of the household hissing

§ Bacon or toast? Bacon or toast?! WHAT KIND OF SNAKESPEAKER ARE YOU?! § she hissed hysterically at him as she made her way to the top of the table. § Snakes do not eat bacon or toast, Harry, especially not ones of class such as myself. Now where are the ferrets, hmm? § The last comment got a private chuckle out of Harry. Ferrets indeed.

'_Malfoy…'_

Glancing around the table, where she had finally arrived to the incredulous faces of the Dursleys – Vernon for such a thing being on his table (_that boy's freakishness!_), Petunia and Dudley because they didn't expect Harry to let the snake come up onto the table – Serena decided that there was nothing worth eating here. The potential entertainment value on the other hand, seemed too great to ignore.

§ Humans don't eat ferrets at the table, Serena. Or at all, for that matter. § Odd thoughts of eating Malfoy coming to his mind. _Very _odd thoughts that he shoved away.

§ Hush, we can get ferrets later. There are more interesting things to do right now. § And with that said, she began to hiss dramatically, slowly winding her way around the table between the plates of food. Petunia tried not to scream over what she assumed was Harry's joke, but was completely freaking out on the inside. Vernon was trembling with… something. And Dudley decided the snake was harmless, unless it tried to bite him, and used the opportunity to ponder what he would do in the aftermath. And there would be an aftermath to Harry pulling that stunt.

Then it all exploded in his face. Well, everyone's face really. And by it, I mean Vernon and the table, either one or both – whichever. His rage came straight to his face – the hopes of the rest of the household completely dashed in the same instant. Before any other thoughts, fears, or despairs could form, Vernon was across the table (or the space where it was a moment before) and was for all intents and purposes about to beat the life out of our despairing, panicking, and completely shocked saviour.

It was the same as Friday – things that both should and shouldn't have locked into place. His aunt was knocked out of the way as she tried to help. He was shoved back into the counter behind him, practically held in place by the bulk of body mass looming over him. It was too much, his wounds had barely healed. Serena, the only new factor, was gone – flung away with the tableware. Dudley sat, also frozen, and still unsure of what to do as Harry was re-acquainted with pain (yet again).

Harry couldn't stand it – it was just the same as before. Yet he had to escape somehow, call for help, anything. Internally, so Vernon wouldn't be alerted and go after this throat, Harry began to scream and yell and call for help. Regardless that he didn't have telepathy, he pushed all his mental and, unknowingly, magical strength outwards screaming. He screamed and screamed and **screamed.**

'_HELP!! Oh gods.. SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!! HELP ME PLEASE!! STOP IT YOU DAMN OAF!! __**SOMEBODY HELP ME!**__"_

And unbeknown to those involved, Harry's mental screams of anguish broke through some of the toughest Occlumency barriers into the mind of one of the best Mind Arts Masters and natural Legilimens to date – Lord Voldemort.

« -- »

The Dark Lord was in the middle of a meeting with a contact in the Ministry when, almost simultaneously, he suddenly felt his Occlumency barriers crack, shatter, and a scream of quite a great deal mental intensity break through. He could not help himself; he winced. The contact gave him an odd look, and upon noticing, Voldemort sent him away. He could not show such a weakness, but could not risk exposing more by attempting to curse the lucky witness.

"You're dismissed! We shall continue this later."

'_Help me! SOMEBODY! Anybody! HELP ME! NOO, PLEASE NO – STOP! __**HELP ME!!**__'_

The voice was so strong, yet so frail all at once as if though it might snap any moment. It sounded so familiar to him and the pain in the words so intense that Voldemort didn't bother to remember that he should not be hearing it and prepared to Apparate to whoever was tormenting him so. What he did not expect to see upon Apparating was a normal, if somewhat overly clean and neat, muggle sitting room. Then he heard sounds he had not heard in well over half a century – the sounds of a beating.

Quickly striding through the doorway and into the hall where he could hear the sounds coming from, he took a glance at his left and right. There, the first thing he saw down the hall was a kitchen: a few chairs and a table upturned, a woman sprawled over one of them with a look of horror on her face, and a bulk of a man hunched over something – beating it?

A quick stunner and some quick, large strides down the hall into the kitchen and he came upon the most repulsive scene he had witnessed in a long time. Sitting in a chair he could not see earlier was a stocky boy staring at the scene in shock, food hanging from his mouth and in his lap. The woman who before only had a look of horror now also had a look of relief, though the horror was still there and quickly setting in full once more. And there, splayed supine between the tub of lard he had just stunned and the kitchen counter was none other than Harry James Potter – the Boy-Who-Bloody-Would-Not-Die.

'_Not possible. What the bloody hell is going on here? This boy.__.. this boy-!_

"Woman! Explain this to me," he sharply addressed Petunia, with not much tolerance or patience for the scene he had come upon. "NOW."

And she did, though not without further prompting after some hesitation. Still, with a stutter, she quickly told him.

"I-I had got-ten up er-early and dess-decided to make br-breakfast. H-He came down and a-ate with me for awhile before my-my my husband suddenly c-came downstairs and s-s-saw him at the table. Vernon-n doesn't like Harry at the-the table. Harry c-calmed him a l-little, but then – then the s-s-snake – V-Vernon began to beat him a-again! I tried to h-help–! I couldn't…"

Voldemort stood there, no longer unsure of what to do. He had caught onto only one key phrase for the moment: "Vernon beat him **again**". Had this happened before? Is this where the lauded Boy-Who-Lived actually _lived?_ In this environment? With these people? What kind of abuse…?

The thoughts whirled through the Dark Lord's head as he more subconsciously than consciously bent down to check for what harm had been done to the boy. Quickly assessing that he had a few broken bones, a black eye, and more that likely quite a bit of bruising and internal bleeding, the Dark Lord took control of the whole situation. He was about to stun the other boy when the woman stopped him and instead ordered the boy to come help them. The boy was apparently still too shaken, but she had said she had tried to help and was obviously in tears over it – she had heart enough.

"Get his things – I'm taking him. Quickly, before he dies of something I cannot fix!"

Petunia quickly got to her feet and rushed up the stairs and into Harry's room. She grabbed all of Harry's things from the bed and the desk, skipping over the wardrobe of hand-me-downs, and shoving them into his trunk – even the things under the loose floorboard. She then grabbed Hedwig's cage and, turning at the door to make sure she had not forgotten anything, quickly made her way back down stairs to the terrifying man that, if she remembered correctly, had killed her sister and brother-in-law that fateful night 15 years ago. Now was not the time to worry about that though; Harry needed her.

"Is that all of his things?" Voldemort yelled. The boy was dying and there was _no time to waste._

"Yes – where are we going?" she quickly replied, anxious to get this over and done with.

"No time for questions, we leave _now_," he retorted and with that, apparated with the boy and his relatives in tow to the Manor.

**¸.•´ ¨ ) ¸.• ´ ¨ )  
( ¸ .•´ ( ¸ .•**

Wandering about the Dark place he found himself in, Harry did his best to restrain his curiosity, letting his Slytherin Survival Instinct take over as it usually did in such situations. But there was something in this place that drew him in, that called to him. He followed the feeling through the strangely well-lit dark corridors past columns and dimly lit ornate lamps and beautiful though oddly blurred portraits and tapestries. He would occasionally pass a door, but knew it wasn't what he was looking for. Then he saw it, despite the distance to the end of the hall; two intricately carved, ebony doors a good twelve feet high waiting for him to throw them open.

The feeling had grown stronger as he had turned the corner, but now it seemed to be tugging at him almost, pulling him towards the (_'glowing…?'_) doors down the corridor. The realization that something very big was about to happen in his life didn't quite register until Harry was just a few steps short of throwing the twin doors open. He slowed down his steps, but did not stop as he became wary of what might happen to him.

'_Why am I so drawn to these doors? Where is here anyway? This doesn't make any sense! … Well I wasn't put in Gryffindor for nothing.'_

Deciding reverence, or caution, would be better than causing a ruckus and alerting danger to his presence, he eased the doors open. The doors swung open with ease despite their size and he slipped into what turned out to be a grandiose study. To his left he saw bookshelves lining the wall from floor to ceiling, a good fifteen feet up. Save another door, the whole left wall was a bookshelf. The right wall was much the same, except halfway down there was a fireplace with a large rug and two wing-backed chairs arranged before it.

Passing by the currently cold arrangement, he saw that there was a clear chess table (_'Perhaps it's glass, or charmed crystal…'_) with (_'Charmed?'_) obsidian and quartz chess pieces already set to play a new game, until Harry moved a white pawn – E2 to E4.

"You shouldn't barge into others' private studies and displace their personal belongings, Mr. Potter."

The cold, hissing voice mocking him made Harry freeze. Who wouldn't? He knew that voice all too well; little more than two months had passed at the most since their last face-to-face encounter, a lot sooner than usual. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the ('_somewhat_') reasonably feared Dark Lord Voldemort, had just entered the room unnoticed through the unchecked door behind him. Bracing himself and putting on a calm, fearless mask, Harry turned around to face his arch-nemesis, who had yet to curse or hex him, or anything else violent for that matter. And was that some hair he just saw a second ago?

'_I wonder…'_

« -- »

Halfway to his rather large oak desk, emerald orbs trying to mask their apprehension met his own cold, raging scarlets. It was for a brief moment, but eyes could say a thousand things in less time; Voldemort saw defiance and curiosity, and perhaps a spark of… was that gratitude?

'_What in the world could that boy be thankful __of my presence for? His death has been a top priority for over a decade, Hades knows the times the brat just barely escaped alive. Foolish boy; hasn't even drawn a wand yet.'_

_**Next time you ponder over someone else's thoughts and actions, especially when they're across the room in a staring contest with you, you should keep a grasp on your Occlumency shields, Tom. Why are you staring anyway? I'm not that unsightly, am I?**_

It had only been a brief moment or two, but Legilimency (twisted as it was in this case) need not follow the flow of time, and then suddenly Harry had conjured himself a mirror. Taken unaware, Voldemort stood there still only halfway to his ornate desk as he tried to process exactly what had happened in the last few seconds since _Potter _had turned around.

'_Potter is a Legilimens? But that's not possible. Then what of his Occlumency shields?'_ A sideways glance from Harry, who was still in front of that mirror, _'And __**my**__ shields! Infernal brat, can't let me reign in peace.'_

"You know Tom," he snorted, interrupting the Dark Lord's thoughts, "the link is still open, for all your shields. I was under the impression that you knew, considering. You did use it quite a lot in the past year. _' And just the other day…'_"

Did the bloody Boy-Who-Forgot-to-Drop-Dead just try to one-up him? Impossible! He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin and he would not be insulted by such an impudent child!

_**Thoughts, Tom. And I am hardly a child, no thanks to you.**_

The worlds held no malice, rather, an almost teasing tone. Coming back to the "real world", he found Harry seated in the cosy seat across the desk from his own imperial, wing-backed arm chair. Giving his head a mental shake, he moved to his chair, attempting to be intimidating, key word: attempting. He did not sit just yet, wary of why this boy was here in his _very private _study and not attacking or otherwise aggravating him more than he already had…yet.

"Private thoughts, Tom. Private thoughts." The calm, even voice did not ease him. In fact, it only served to make him more wary. And that wretched name! "Don't worry Tom, I don't even know where we are, other then that is it obviously your place, and I'm thinking, you're personal base of operations in one of the secluded wings? I was actually hoping someone would tell me how I got here, and since you're here and this **is **your place, maybe you could give me some answers?"

The boy even dared to give him a _smile._ _'What is the boy talking about? How can he just waltz in here not knowing where "here" is and demand answers from __**me**__?! Who does he think he is? I am the Dark Lord Voldemort you insufferable, rats-nest haired, green-eyed –'_ and then he felt a nudge, a mental one, encouraging him to go on.

"Get out of my head Potter or you will regret it!"

_**I don't think I will Tom. 'Tis much too fun in here. Besides, you obviously see this as a weakness, even if only temporarily. At least, so you think.**_

"Potter –"

"Just tell me where I am, how I got here, and how I can leave. Simple request for the person who would be your tormentor," he smirked. Perhaps not the right term, since his face only showed some smugness; the smirk was all in his voice. The expression shouldn't have fit so naturally upon Harry's visage. But it was no longer the Boy-Who-Lived's face. Perhaps this was the true face behind the façade?

"Hn. Now what would a snake like you be doing in the lions' den? Or perhaps this is a recent development?" It was a blatant change of topic and came with a slightly arched brow, but Harry smirked nonetheless. Well the end of his mouth quirked up slightly, but it was a smirk by Slytherin Standards – a very elegant one, too.

"For all the valuable information you could have found, you never searched my mind as I slept. And you call yourself a Slytherin? _**Even the sole Heir, though you are only half-blood.**_ But no matter." Referring to his blood purity or lack of cunning, Voldemort couldn't tell but was affronted regardless.

"How dare you!" His wand was already up with a curse upon his lips when Harry stopped him. That damned prodding in his mind, even if only a tease, would not cease. If only the two weren't so intimately connected, the boy would be dead.

'_Couldn't he just leave me in peace?'_

"Tom, I'm not going to stop until you answer my questions. Well, since you're the older one, I guess I should answer yours first." The rather mischievous twinkle in his eyes only gave the Dark Lord more pause.

"As I said before, if you had bothered to search my own mind you would have found the memory of the Sorting Ceremony, and more significantly, my relatively long debate with the Sorting Hat. I believe its exact words were: _'You could be great, you know, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness…'_

"Obviously, I had argued with it, repeating over and over _'not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin'_ so the Hat placed me in Gryffindor. I was naïve back then. So naïve and for the moment still in awe of the magical world. Perhaps if I wasn't, I wouldn't have listened to everyone's bad opinions of Slytherin House. Perhaps I would've been a Slytherin, and chances being you might've been resurrected earlier. We'll never know, but it's an interesting thought isn't it?"

Voldemort simply sat there where he had slumped into his chair – expression carefully kept impassive, but on the inside he was both surprised and not at all, which only made him feel more perplexed. He tried to shake off the feeling; he was the Dark Lord and Dark Lords don't get confused.

"No, Tom, this isn't a recent development. The Hat would no doubt obnoxiously agree to that statement. Ruddy thing has been trying to convince me to resort for five years now, and it will most likely never stop. Though I must say, Slytherins have become very un-Slytherin like in recent years. I think you've been giving them a bad example to follow."

Why was the boy even still talking? For that matter, why was he letting the boy talk? The boy should be dead asleep this very moment. Shouldn't even be in his Sanctuary at all! A tick was developing, he could feel it.

'_What the bloody hell is wrong with me. What in Mordred's name is wrong with __**you**__, Potter?'_

_**Well Tom, since you asked oh so nicely, I'm currently wondering when you **__**are going to tell me where I am and how I'm going to get back home. Or, at the least, tell me how to get out of here. But please, take you time, this chair is simply exquisite.**_

And then he snapped. At this point, he didn't care if the boy was dead when he was done or not, the boy just needed to _leave._

"THAT IS **IT **POTTER! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN MY SANCTUARY OR HOW YOU EVEN GOT HERE, AND MY PERSONAL STUDY OF ALL PLACES, BUT I BELIEVE IT'S TIME YOU _**LEFT!**_"

Harry couldn't help but smile. A frustrated Voldemort was a funny Voldemort, at least in this case. Usually he would have a wand pointed at your chest and eyes burning with hatred boring into your skull. Currently though, the Dark Lord was the ideal (and rather amusing) picture of an angry boss; his face twisted in frustration, his mouth forming a rather wicked snarl whilst his hands – now clenched into fists – were trying very hard to not put a dent into anything, i.e. making dents in the top of the desk where they were shaking with bottled rage. Not to mention that upon jumping up to yell out his annoyance, his chair had not only toppled back, but shattered something behind it.

Oh, and his eyes looked completely mad, not in the homicidal killer sense either. More of the "if it doesn't happen to you" kind of funny, "I am so going to kill you but I can't dammit" type of mad look. Harry barely managed to not laugh out right.

"Well you see, that's the thing, you still haven't told me how to leave yet."

If anything, the mad look in Voldemort's eyes grew more intense and therefore more hilarious.

"USE THE FLOO!" The fireplace burst to life. Harry walked over and glanced back at the Dark Lord as he tried, and failed, to calm himself down. He had closed his eyes as if willing everything away before he opened them again, right into the two emerald orbs that had been tormenting him.

_**Floo Powder?**_

"**LEAVE!**"

And Harry was thrown back into the now bright green flames and spun around until he was thrown out… in his bed? Huh, would you look that.

"Well he's a rather charming fellow, when he's not being an outright bastard. Silly Dark Lords…," he laughed to himself before settling down to catch a few more winks of sleep before sunrise. Little did he notice that this wasn't _his _bed and he was most definitely _not _at the Dursley's any longer. But he would figure it out soon enough when he woke up for breakfast.


End file.
